I stopped writing about you

I stopped writing about you,
How perfectly-flawed you are to me,
How distinct figures and characteristics engulf me
Like a huge wave from the ocean and sea.
I stopped writing about you,
How little things you do matter to me,
I know these petty things are nothing to you,
But they are tremendous and heavy things to me.
I stopped writing about you,
How your smile captures me,
How it turned my heart into chaos,
How it turned my mind into deep frenzy.
I stopped writing about you,
How deeply passionate you are as a person,
How you selflessly do things not only for me,
But for the whole country.
I stopped writing about you,
How your flowery words simply dominates me,
How those jumbled up letters and phrases
Can send my heart to the galaxy.
But can’t you see this irony?
That no matter how many times I try to stop writing about you, it still leads me back to here. That no matter how many times I convince myself that no good will come out from this, I still managed to grab the pen and pour my heart out. 
They told me to stop writing about you, they told me to repress all of these emotions that kept crashing down on me. For through this action, I would be able to save myself from drowning, from burning… from falling.

However, all my efforts went to the trash bin. All the intentions of trying to exclude you from my thoughts yet here you are, the content of my emotions, the content of my dreams, the content of my whole being. Lo and behold, you just managed to be my nth entry again.

 ~ H (Aug. 6, 2017; 11:23am)