*The Artist took the refuge of words once again to get over the pain*
He is perhaps the one I can’t forget, whose being radiates out a spell: that may save me or drown me in eternal hell.
He is perhaps the hunter of my heart: who bates me in with an outstretched arm, and I am drawn towards my own murderer, alas!
He is perhaps the love I must not hope to last, and yet I shall remember him forevermore: he taught me love when I knew none, so I shall call his name- love!
I am too upset for words, but I know that I’m not heartbroken. I haven’t given him the power to break my heart. No. It’s sheer disappointment, I believe.