Yesterday as I laid in my bed
I wondered if you loved me for real,
or is it just some game our mind is playing with us.
We both think that you love me,
but actually or may be,
it’s not love its something else,
something above the cloud.
Because you never tell me what I mean to you
or how much I mean to you
you only say that you love me in letters and mails
and not in a public place
when I ask you
because what’s there to love me,
I ain’t pretty or smart or creative,
I ain’t that girl from your dreams
all I do is build a wall around me with words and verses.
But today as I checked your desktop while you went to make tea (the third cup in a row) for me,
I came across few lines I had read before.
The poem I had written sometimes ago now sits as your desktop wallpaper.