that will go unrequited

Contained in a year-old composition notebook
Are ten thousand verses on unrequited love;
None of them can truly describe
The way that your eyes glisten in the sunshine.

So I’ll sit here and write,
Late into the unforgiving night
Every time I’m reminded of your visage and of your persona
Even when I know this is all merely my way of
Punching myself for not returning your smile.

Can I regale you with another story?
Another path that I could have traveled
Not the one that I so foolishly chose?
That undying sentiment of regret is just so prevalent.

When the clock strikes ten minutes to three
Right as the sun enters its deepest state of slumber,
I’ll find the opportunity that I missed
The things we could have shared
Eventually, I’ll find a way to get over it.