Why You?

Look how you make me cry silently.

At night.

In daylight.

Each time I tell myself, "This will be the last time you cry for the unknown, Delight."

But are you really the unknown?

Are you merely a figment of my imagination?

Someone I long for so dearly, yet can never have.

Someone I look up to.

Someone I reach out to,

to feel,

to touch,

to express.

But you're so far away,

faint,

like a whispered secret carried by the wind.

There seems to be no difference between my broken heart and the shards of glass that kiss my skin, leaving their crimson stain behind.

Every shard reflects how broken I am—

outside and within.

Each fractured piece reminds me of what I've become.

Every night, as I cry myself to sleep, my pillow seems to be my only comfort.

Every time I stare at these invisible scars,

I think of you.

So why you then?

What makes you different from the Man who wrote me sixty-six love letters,

containing seven hundred and eighty-three thousand, one hundred and thirty-seven words?

So why you then?

What makes you more appealing than the Man who spilled both blood and water for my sake?

So why you then?

What makes you so special?

Why do I keep crawling back to you,

even after asking myself,

What manner of love is this?

So why...

Why you?