The Best Love I Had
我拥有过的最好的爱
A brief prose poem addressed to a beloved who never returned. The speaker insists—without bitterness, only quiet certainty—that no one loved him more deeply: drowning before understanding, perishing before forgiving, and after letting go, still carving his name into bone.
You arrived without a word,
but dropped a shard of light
into the wilderness of my heart.
I bent to pick it up,
as if gathering a scrap of fate,
reading it in silence where no one else could see.
I was not the first to meet you,
nor the one you returned to,
but I know—
in the seams of time that blurred like dreams,
I kept you in a world I built
with longing, silence, and fire.
They say love cannot be measured,
but I still insist: I loved you most.
Because no one else—
drowned before they understood,
perished before they forgave,
and after letting go,
still carved your name into their bones,
asking for nothing,
but for your existence.
You never needed to know my name.
I no longer beg for recognition.
But remember this:
through all the days you never returned,
there was one soul
that set itself ablaze
just to leave—
a single line for you.