I have not written a good thing
In quite a long time.
But you-
You are a good thing.
But I have not written you.
I did not write you.
No matter how much I try to
I find it difficult to put your name into letters,
And your laugh into syllables,
Your smile into sentences,
And your hugs into paragraphs
That can cover the world in warmth.
And I think one day,
I'll find that you've already turned
Your life into stories
Because I took too long trying to write you.
But your letters,
Your syllables,
Your sentences,
Your paragraphs,
Your stories
Do not belong to me-
Are not mine to tell.
And after all this time
Only now have I come to realize
That you are a poem in your own right
But the honor of writing you
Has never been mine.
I started writing this 2 months ago. It's been too long and I don't remember who this was about, but words change and twist into meanings of their own. Here's to the ideas of people we turn into stories. Here's to falling in love with the characters we create. Here's to you, and the poem I wish you were.