I write about her for hours,
pour every thought onto the page.
I know exactly what to say,
how to make her understand.

But then she’s there.
eyes like home, voice like a song.
My mind runs too fast to hold,
every word I’ve ever written
colliding, unraveling,
spilling into nothing.

There is so much,
a storm of love, of longing,
of everything she makes me feel.
But all that comes out is I love you,
the simplest, the smallest,
yet the truest thing I know.

And then I cry,
because it’s not enough,
but it’s all I have.