I think I know now,
My aversion and confusion,
My incomplete answers and fragments,
To this question I keep asking myself,
On the reasons why I thought
The idea of another's love for
Me and mine for the other,
Seemed so perplexing
That perhaps, I fumbled often,
In thinking that It was,
Because life was a rush,
And meant more to me, that the others love
Or because I was waiting for
The perfect one, who I would
Stumble upon unexpectedly
But what are all my fancies,
But fantasies, lies that life
Does matter to me that much
That the perfect one is only my fiction
When I know I could not be
What I promised you
I would be,
Everyday, all those years,
And betrayed you all those years,
Everyday
And All those years,
You, you still loved me
Like no other can, or ever will
How could I taste another's emotion,
When I have had that inkling of yours,
That vastness of unspoken
Affection and forgiveness
Feeling what I felt, knowing what I know,
How could such a person, such a liar, pretender,
Be loved or deserved to be loved by any other.
But you, after all my imperfections, and dearth
Of mistakes, still keep loving me like no other.
Knowing such love, How can someone ask me of love,
what can I say to questions that they keep asking
When deep down, behind all the lies,
I know now the answer Is, and always will be,
You.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem