"I miss your love"
she said.

I used to write you poetry.
Last Christmas I made you a journal;
You loved that.

"Things are different. It's a really strange change, isn't it?"
I replied.

"Yeah they are different, you don't love me anymore."
"I miss your cuddles. And your laughter. "
"But mostly your love."

Your three texts remain unopened.
They've been haunting my phone screen
For the past hour now.
And that's how the unsaid things remain unsaid.