I still hear your name,
when I'm in a dark place,
comforting to think that
I'm on your mind,
wishful thinking,
without action,
I can't say I love you,
left of my own accord,
so I write silent letters to you,
with no postal stamp,
no to,
only from,
your one and only,
I still write numerous poems about you,
knowing you'll read them,
hoping you'll feel them.

Close your eyes,
I whisper in your ear,
when you think of forever,
what do you see my dear,
or rather who do you see,
right through your tears,
through the uncertainty of time,
and the path you will take,
who is your partner,
your guide as you are theirs,
I asked you this question once before,
a rainy day on the second floor,
tell me your answer once again.

I hope you'l need me one day,
wondering how I'll react,
to my phone shaking with excitement,
as you show up in my notifications,
perhaps for a cup of tea,
so will I smile,
or will it ring,
serenading me with that perfect tone,
a satisfying silence falls, as I watch,
your name,
leave my screen,
tell me where we're going,
tell me which it'd be.

It's midnight,
and my pen and I were wondering,
wondering if you see me in the same light,
as before,
reflecting in the same beautiful eyes,
as before,
read my poems with the same smile,
as before.

There are some poems I refuse to write,
hidden away,
but always presented to me,
in my search for inspiration,
The words are hidden
but on the tip of my tongue,
the feelings forbidden,
or simply ill advised,
for it has been so long,
since I've been honest with anyone,
including myself.