I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you to stumble upon my poetry some day.
I want you to know how much of this I write for you, and you alone.
I write out the words I can never seem to say.
And I don't have the courage to call you on the telephone.
I love you.
More than the night loves the stars.
I need you.
More than New York City needs subway cars.
I miss you.
More than the moon misses the sun.
I ache for you.
More than legs ache after they run.