People told me to stop writing about you. To stop making your name synonymous to the sunshine and sunrise. They told me to write about other subjects, use other feelings, exhibit other guys. But how can I when my bleeding pen only screams your name? When your existence still feels like the only purpose as to why I'm writing. How can I write another poetry, another prose, without talking about how you light up the darkness of my life with just a simple smile. How can I exhibit another guy when all I can think of is a future with you? A future that can only be found in tangled words you will never read. And maybe that is why I continue writing about you. Because along these vague lines, and twisted metaphors, lies a story I wish I could have. Along the synonyms I have incorporated with your name are lines connecting you to me. And, baby, that is just it. My poetries are nothing without you. You belong to my poetries. You belong to me in my poetries. Only there. Only there.