Saying What Wasn't.

Can't begin to process.
Can't stand upon the shore.
Can't imagine the eyes that contract with your notes.
Or the eyes that make notice of my smile.
Staying a while.. while I figure it out.
While Sophie. The isle.
The conglomerate of strings to my ears that make them bleed.
But what doesn't have and what doesn't make them need.
Of your whisper so slightly.
And I of a minute too soon to love.