I don’t know why she was so easily frustrated
or why she spent hours on end,
at the end,
on the floor compulsively cutting
butterflies out of book pages.
I don’t know why she grew to hate her birthday so much
or why she seemed to become increasingly more and more indecisive.
I don’t know why she began to write those letters,
that jumbled, nonsensical prose
that tumbled, then rose again
only to fall again,
end and begin again.
What begins only just ends again.
And again.

I don’t know why I write in third person
or why I write these letters
or why I can’t make decisions
or why I hate my birthday so much
or why I’m burning these butterflies,
watching the flames feast on their wings.
And I don’t know why I think these things,
the things they say not to think.
But I think that the thoughts I think can’t just be unthought,
that thinking these things can’t be untaught,
like I can’t be untaught to love you.
And that’s where things get really confusing
because you’re not the you that I knew
anymore.
And I suppose I’m not the you that you knew anymore either,
but in my heart and somewhere in the attics of my brain
we’re together, alive again.

If I hadn't fallen in love
I would have not known
that stars could dance in the eyes
That the moon could whisk me away
That the sun could live in the heart
and warm it and fill it with light
That clouds could shower kisses
And rain could touch like a lover
That the scent of flowers
could linger through the night
That the winds could play love melodies
That sunrises could colour a blush
And sunsets stir romance
That dreams could glisten at dawn
like drops of dew

I would have not known the magic
that is love
If I hadn't fallen in love
With you