There will come a time where our inked words will eventually be etched across the doggy-eared, creased but never broken edges of our white hearts painted red.
It's the magic wisped within the silence of letters
that can truly make us a little more impervious.

A little bundle of warmth on cold, sleepless nights.

And you know, what is the best part, sweet-heart?
In the same way, the best part of sliced bread is the very middle,
warm duvet over your sleepy eyelids,
the kind of smile that "introduces you to yourself for the first time."
Or, the very fact, quotes peek-a-boo through my words. They live time after time. Through lips to another.
To one lovely soul and the next.

Those little breaths you take that feels like mint tooth-paste.

The best part is that those words are yours.
Every stroke, the deft indentations across the page,
oh, pages. (Yes, I do know you pen words at 2am then at 4 again.)

So many inexplicable things get snatched from our outstretched fingertips. Some willingly, some that we had to swallow silent good-byes.

It's ok-ay though.

These words, the ones dotting the back of your hand or the scribbles at the back of pages.
They all have your name etched & those creased memories tied like  dainty ribbons upon them.
It is entirely and utterly  
yours.
Yours in this starry universe.