I wrote you a story, a sonnet, and a symphony the other day,
but I forgot them.
I meant to give them to you,
but one look in your eyes, and words failed me.
I couldn't remember what I had written,
nor did it matter.
I knew that each word, each note, I had written while not in your presence
couldn't suffice.
I hadn't been able to embody every feeling, every sensation,
that I am taught over and over again each time I see you.
I had thought my story, my sonnet, and my symphony would do a fair job,
but, without your physical, visual, and verbal influence,
my words and melodies could not reach the magnitude I had hoped.
My imagination, and, similarly, my memories,
do you no justice.
I wrote you a story, a sonnet, and a symphony the other day,
but upon seeing you, I forgot them, so
I wrote you this instead,
to describe how difficult it is to be away from you.