For you, I was a chapter, for me, you were the book,
In this narrative of ours, I couldn't help but look.
Every page I turned with you, I savoured every line,
Yet now those pages flutter, abandoned, lost in time.
You saw me as a moment, a fragment in your tale,
But to me, you were the epic where my heart set sail.
I poured my soul in paragraphs, my dreams in every verse,
While you glanced at summaries, indifferent and terse.
We wrote in different languages, our hearts on separate paths,
You skimmed through our story, while I embraced its depths.
Each chapter held my feelings, inscribed with love and care,
But you flipped through the pages, as if I wasn't there.
Now the book lies open, to a chapter marked by pain,
The words once filled with meaning, now blurred by tears like rain.
For you I was a footnote, a fleeting, passing phase,
But for me, you were the book, the love of all my days.
I’ll pen a new beginning, though your imprint lingers still,
In the margins of my heart, where empty spaces fill.
For even if our story ended, its echoes still remain,
A poignant, painful testament to love that turned to pain.