It’s strange to look back
at all these beautiful words
I wrote to you,
Half of which you’ll never see.

I’ve thought of putting them
in a book for you,
the way kids place leaves in books
to preserve them.
I’ve thought of preserving
our memories that way.
But then I thought for a while that
you wouldn’t want them,
That they’d collect dust in the back of a closet or under a bed.

The same bed your delicate heartbeat will lay upon to seek refuge each night.

But then I thought
they’d collect dust anyway,
whether you wanted them or not.

Because words are just words,
aren’t they?

Words and actions don’t always
go hand in hand.
Maybe I were words
& you were actions.

Maybe that’s why we no longer
go hand in hand.