A Poet's Poetic Ending

You will always be my poetry.

You will always be the reason for my sleepless nights; the one who keeps me awake at midnight to write poems about how you make me feel. Yet now, what I write about is mostly pain. You will always be the reason I need to write, for I lack the courage to speak these feelings aloud. They are too complicated, and only metaphors can do them justice. You will always be the reason my pen overflows with ink, my eyes with tears, and my mind with thoughts and words that I cannot even fully grasp.

You are and will always be my poetry. Your existence is an art that ignites the writer's heart within me. You made me fall in love with you like no one ever did and inflicted pain no one could have ever imagined. The pain that was stabbed into my vulnerable heart will bleed and bleed through words, through poems that will inspire others despite the despair of the writer.

And yes, you will remain as my poetry, for you are still the source of the ink of pain, bitterness, and regret. But after all, you are the kind of poetry that made me understand what love truly is and what I can do for love. You'll always be my greatest love. And so, my poetry, you can now find your own poetry; for this is the period of what I thought was a semi-colon in our story.