He had thought he was in love–
only to realise it was only a bluff.
Had made him blush whenever she was around–
while all knowing what she wanted from him.
People knew who she was.
He didn’t know and tried to ask her.
She lost her mind briefly as he posed to her a question;
Who are you?
To her, a name explained everything.
Not to him, though.
He didn’t care much about her name but,
About who she was in person.
Walked with her,
Did with her all things couples do but,
Who she was still remained anonymous.
Whenever he got to ask her who she is,
They’ll fight so bitter a fight that strangers had to split them up.
He did everything for her–even taking her confused self to psychiatrist.
But, the woman never changed from being a self made psycho–
into a real woman that he always thought her to be.
Until he asked her about who she was and,
about her family’s background.
Asked her who her mother is,
Asked her who her father is,
Said words that I’ll never turn into rows,
lines or stanzas of a poem.
So my good audience,
who are you?