So, if my vocal cords can't collaborate to produce sounds to communicate audibly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can't there be another way to articulate this feeling?
What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate, and velum doing?
I never knew that emotion could effectively shut down my speech tract.
How I wish my voice could play a melody into my heartbeat, and my heart have an audio port above my skin, so you can plug in your headphones in and listen to the lyrics of my love, because you have rendered me speechless.
I had it scripted in my mind how I would tell you eloquently how beautiful and charming you are.
Yet when I drew nigh, I decided to start with hello, to show some decorousness.
But I soon realized that my lungs couldn't even draw forth the air necessary to widen and narrow my vocal cords, and I stood ultimately voiceless, except for having stammered those 2 solitary syllables, let alone the remaining dozens.
Should I comply with the belief that actions speak louder than words? That I might employ charades to better convey my feelings?
I always thought I was one who could speak with the power of a warlord, yet here I am before you squawking like a sick parrot.
But what could render a spoken word artist so totally silenced?
Maybe let's try establishing causality.
The first time I saw you, you blinked.
When you opened your eyes again, I saw a vibrant blue universe I wanted to explore.
Is that what silenced me? Well maybe you could do that again? It might set me free.
Don't wait for me to ask,
I can't speak.
I hope you never go to an event where the performer needs to concentrate, cuz you'll distract them and they might actually die.
It's because of what you carry,
More mystical than mermaids, you shroud me in Medusa's curse, your eyes communicate to mine, and I am now petrified.
I came of my own volition, but now I'm at your mercy.
Look away and set me free.
Instant infatuation within me converted into electric surges and fried my speech tract.
From a distance I was in great haste to meet you. Up close, I slow to a halt and stand like a big, dumb pillar.
I wonder why I am speechless.
I wonder why I am speechless because I am a man with a silk tongue who can stand before a woman and captivate her with words.
I wonder why I am speechless.
My negative lips attract positive kisses. Maybe we're both negative, so we repel.
How I wish my vocal cords would comply at least enough to produce a sputter of some kind, so at least you know that I'm stricken.
My hobby is to speak, and I am well practiced, so I wonder why I can't even stammer.
My phonetics cannot produce a squeak, let alone weave an elaborate syntax to melt your heart.
How unfortunate it is.

I am speechless because

I am in love

Humans, by nature, are creatures of the present.
We live in the now.
And maybe your now was 4 years ago before she died,
And maybe your now is a visionary hope of days yet to come.
Whatever the case, I've had a beautiful thought, or better said, a bit of happy revelation;
The seed never sees the flower.

If you had met me 3 years ago, you'd have a vastly different experience than if you met me today.
Then, my countenance bore the look of a fox lily seed bulb, or rather, a soiled ******* with a shriveled pink petal of hope and thick tendrils of pity, like some kind of monster bug that got lost while looking for where the wild things went.
A rather pathetic sight, coupled with the stench drug abuse and swelling cresendos of loneliness.
Back then I lived in the shadows of regret, and walked on a leash with a noose as my collar, made tame by the demon to whom she sold my soul: Depression.
I drowned my sorrows in ***** and stifled it with the fragrance of dank ****.
My head hung lose on my shoulders, my shoulders slumped hopelessly over my body, and I had an distinct shroud of gloom.
I wanted to die.

But as those long and lonely hours drew out into dreary September days, and on to weeks,
then months,
then years,

I began to blossom.

Thick tendrils of pity took root in the rich soils of friends in need and grew into powerful roots of compassion, transcending years and onwards to a lifetime.

The ******* actually became a heart.
Strong and bold, and inscribed with the scars of every story.

And that little, shriveled petal?
It blossomed into a steadfast and fiery fox tail lily, and when the sun hits it at just the right angle, it almost looks like the burning flame of invigorating life.
And there I stand, stalwart and garish amidst the rolling hills of our very own pale blue dot, looking back on the path that lead me here, simply by letting time pass and enduring the onslaught of change.

And I remembered

The seed never saw the flower.