There are beautiful words in my mind
aching to inform you
of my admiration towards your heart,
my longing for your lips
of the beauty in the fragile lines of your palm.

So many things to be said
about you and about us.

But if my mind is a pen
and you are the ink
I suppose that
there isn't much to be said
after all.
Because your silence is
beyond-noticeable
and my weariness is
growinggreater.

And those words are fading
with every quiet night
when you aren't here
and the phone won't ring.