This will be my last medium for you.

I have written many poems, poetry, and an open letter for you to see. Indeed, you saw it and read it. But after that, you still chose not to come back.

I wrote one in our mother language, and I spoke into it as well. You read it and heard it, yet you choose not to return.

I’ve shown all of these writings as a sign for you that I still leave the door open. And yet, you choose not to knock again.

I guess that was my last attempt to let you know how I feel.

They said, "You can’t speak poetry to someone who doesn’t read."

They were right. Because somehow you just won’t understand. And you refuse to take your time and learn about it.

Fair enough.

Not everyone has the obligation to understand me. People have the privilege to choose. And I ought to accept it.

My dear, my beloved, my sunshine,

I no longer have anything more to say. I’ve said it all, and you’ve read it all.

So darling,

I hope everything that comes toward you is kind, gentle, warm, and soft.

You will always be in my prayers, as a part of my final act of love. I love you, H. I really do.

See you.