Bruises may heal; their color may fade; but their imprints remain.
I have loved but once, yet the entirety of my heart appears marked.
How queer it is to still feel broken...
Taped, glued, but not wholly the same..
Some times are more bearing than others,
whereupon I can imagine him appearring before me:
somehow, some way, that same smile half-raised.
He gets a chance to ponder my youth, my actions,
my ripened disposition.
I purport to tell him "it's alright" --
no need to worry of the circumstances, of how to behave. It's just me;
I'll never compromise his calm.
...It is still amazing for me- what love is, at least to my perception.  
Perhaps I hope never to see him again for this not to change...
I can imagine his eyes - they speak everything to me.
I am sure that this person in front of me feels a richness beyond my noted comprehension;
yet he does not know how to express it.
That's what makes it intriguing.
But I know it -- I can feel it from him; I can feel it in his silence.
So, a girl wants so much what she cannot have...it's not a first. What am I to do?...
Who cares that you are not poetically apt?
Your hands, your fingers, your cheeks, your eyes -- they're my storytellers;
They're all the poetry I need.

Love,
Your greatest protector.