Dearest C,
I always thought my love
for my best love
should go recorded through
words.
Once I was a poet with words
so easy to strung. I was
writing letters and stories and poems about love to
people who did not love me back (or was I hoping
for a love greater than what was given?)
I always thought my words would suffice, and words do
melt hearts, shape minds and
chart uncertainties.
But I grew tired. When I met you
I was lost for words.
I was a writer
no longer and
my words are just plain.
But it was in you that I realized,
words sometimes have no meaning, that words were often left
unspoken. I was no longer a poet
but you loved me anyway.
Now, I wish to write you poems and letters and stories as a symbol of my thanks.
I miss you.
Always,
A
