The Poem I Never Knew I Was Reading🌺

You are the poem that Aphrodite carved upon my heart; the grief of being oblivious to not knowing it was you made me write this letter to you.

How do I begin to say what should have been said long ago? How do I pour into words what I only now realise had always been etched into the deepest chambers of me?

I think I loved you before I even understood what love was. Before the world made sense in colours and meanings, before your name weighted my breath—I loved you. But I was blind to it, lost in the noise of the ordinary while you stood before me like a quiet miracle, aching to be seen. You were the sacred text, and I was the distracted reader, skimming, skimming, never pausing long enough to understand the verses you lived for me.

You were laughter in my silence, comfort in my storms, light in the dimmest of corners. Every memory I revisit now feels like a confession I failed to speak. Every glance you gave, every smile you hid behind uncertain eyes—they were love letters, weren’t they? And I—I, the fool who mistook them for moments, not meanings.

I see now. I see how you never asked to be loved aloud—you only wished to be noticed in the quiet. And I see how my silence must’ve hurt, how my ignorance dressed like indifference must’ve bruised the softest parts of your soul.

But believe me, had I known…
Had I known that the warmth I felt in your presence was the echo of a thousand lifetimes waiting to collide…
Had I known that your voice was the hymn that would follow me even into dreams…
Had I known that the way you looked at me was how the divine gazes upon a lost believer…
I would’ve held your hand and never let go.

And now, I write to you from the altar of regret, every word a flame for what I should have said. For the time I spent looking elsewhere while love quietly bloomed in the shadow of your patience. You were never just someone—I see that now. You were the chapter that changed the story. You were the reason all my metaphors felt incomplete until I finally said your name.

Forgive me for being blind, for being late, for loving you only after realising I always had.

If there’s still a corner of your heart that remembers me gently, let this letter be my offering, my repentance, my truth. If I could go back, I would read you properly. I would memorise every line of you.

And even if you never reply, even if this letter becomes just another whisper in the wind, you are, and always will be, the poem Aphrodite carved into me. Eternal. Divine. Unspoken, but never unfelt.

Still yours—once unknowingly, now eternally,
The one who sees you at last.