Musings of Him at Midnight

There was one person who has loved me the most and I learned to have loved him back. He loves me so much, I am overwhelmed, that I usually cry for every single thing he does.

He writes me poetry out of nowhere and would randomly express what he feels. Oftentimes he would speak about his feelings in metaphors and would address me as a poet.

He draws my portrait out of the blue and sends me his drawings at any time of the day. He actually is good at what he does.

He would always send me songs, sometimes sentimental and usually, hilariously irrelevant because he would tell me he does not know so much about music.

But he sings to me songs despite the fact that he is not a good singer, but he is terribly trying hard. And I love that about him.

He sends me a lot of photos of the place he went when he decides to go off the road. He always wanted to share his excitement and peace.

He tells me lame jokes, he tells me his problems, he tells me all the darkness inside him as well as the things he has always been passionate about.

I have known him. I have known how deep his voice could get when he cries and mourning. I have known how alive he sounds when he laughs with me in our daily random conversation.

He always introduces me to the edges of his soul because he trusts and appreciates me for being able to listen to him throwing sad words when he is breaking. And yes, he too motivates me!

He makes me the only person he has. And that’s what I love about him.

And now, whenever I met men and when they began introducing themselves, he’s always the first person that comes to my head.

I tend to look for him in every man I met. If they would do the same things, the way he does. If they would write me poems, or draw me, or sing to me, or cry to me. If whether they get mad when I don’t reply or answer a call, or if they would message me at 12 midnight out of the blue just to tell me how much they are feeling.

And I still keep on looking for him in the people I meet and find.