Prezly Writes

I once wrote this.

Devoted

Dear you,
I only know how to love,
no matter what returns,
or if nothing ever does.

You can flee my gaze,
but never my heart,
where your name is etched forever
and your soul still glows.

Even if I fade to nothing,
my energy will follow yours
through every quiet silence.

Call me sick if you must,
your fever still burns inside me,
your absence chills me to the bone.
Yet the light in your eyes
keeps warming my darkest nights.

The flush of your cheeks
once painted my entire world.
Now I try not to think of you,
to hold back the tears
that fell
knowing you were always hers.

The world says
I am not allowed to love you,
that your soul is tied to hers.
But I can’t control it,
how every time I saw you,
your sunny eyes,
round pink cheeks,
small ears,
curious look,
smart smile
made my heart melt.

I can’t control
how your voice
let me finally breathe,
how warmth traveled from my chest
down to my feet.

I can’t control
how, when I see you sad,
I still want to protect you
from everything.

But later, I learned. 🕯

The River Was Never About You

Love was never about you.
It was the river I floated in
while you weren’t there,
a current carrying my dreams,
a mirror for my hunger to feel.

You were a vessel,
a shape the water borrowed.
And I thought I wanted you,
but I only wanted warmth.

I did not need you.
The feeling was already mine.
There is beauty out there,
not because you were,
but because I was.

Dreams of What Could Never Be

Today, I do not seek your love.
I seek my own.
It gave me everything
you never could.

I don’t blame you.
You saw what I couldn’t,
we were waves on different frequencies,
never meeting,
only echoing.

Since childhood I dreamed,
I didn’t build links,
I built skies.
My dreams carried me,
kept me warm,
and when you left,
they stayed.

I thought your absence
was the end of beauty.
But my dreams were never about
arrival,
they were the journey itself,
and that was more
than anything you could have offered.

Muse

I used you in my poems.
You awakened in me
so many unnamed desires.
You lit the prettiest feelings,
but at the end,
they came from me.

I don’t need you as a muse
when I am the fire itself.

What Love Truly Is

The love we create is beautiful
because it comes from us,
not from being answered,
not from being chosen,
but from our own vast capacity
to feel.

It does not need permission.
It does not need to be returned.
It is already whole,
because it lives within us.

If someone cannot meet us
on our frequency,
they would only disappoint,
not because they are cruel,
but because they cannot translate
what we carry.
They cannot fulfill
a dream that was never theirs.

But one day,
when we meet someone
who vibrates in the same rhythm,
our love will no longer be solitary.
We will build something mutual,
a unique language,
born from two hearts
that finally echo in harmony.

And it will not be disappointing,
because it will not rely
on absence or projection,
but on presence,
and on the shared beauty
of what we both are capable of creating.

I wrote once from longing,
and now I write from knowing.
Love remains,
but so do I.