Some are hidden by
Long sleeves baggy sweatshirts
Behind bloodshot eyes
And stale breath
Written in light graphite
On crinkled sheets
In shoeboxes
Therapy sessions
And 2am text messages

There are only
26 letters
to rearrange in
ways that explain
what I'm feeling

There aren't enough
lines, dashes, dots on a
page to tell you
that I love you
and I'm
yours

I know that you don't
want me,
says your 26 letters,
and I know that you're
afraid
and I know the way I
put 26
together
can be completely
overwhelming,

but darling,
26 or 7,
3 or 100-
letters are
irrelevant to the
words I want to
say to you
and can't quite
put together

There are only 26 letters
who can't convey
what I'm feeling.

We're 7 thousand miles apart
But won't mind the distance
Since it's just a number.

You compose beautiful words
In a completely perfect sentence
In such a way as I read them,
I was able to touch
What they made me feel.

Those words that touched me
More than fingertips ever could,
Those lovely words
That can get the insides
Of my heart to dance.
(J.a.t.m)

and I promised myself that I'd stop writing about you,
because you no longer deserved it.
---
but here I am, a month later, and I still compare
every new person I meet to you;
I still find pieces of you in song lyrics;
I still check my messages hoping that maybe you've changed
(either your mind, or your personality, or both).
here I am, a month later, still writing about you, love.
and I wish I wasn't.
I wish your name didn't make my cheeks turn slightly red;
I wish seeing pictures of you smiling with other people,
better people, didn't make my heart sink a little;
I wish I could convince myself that you're not worth it anymore.
---
we'll see how I'm doing next month.