How can I tell someone how to feel
When sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten
How to feel anything myself?

Enlighten me.

The learning is with the entwining of fingertips
Of two pairs of hands that desperately need
To learn a lesson about who they are and
What it is they have to contribute to the world.

That, I believe, is the one and only magic
Remedy that even then can still fail...

It just makes you wonder
If the hands you wish to be holding
Are really even there.

Take mine for example-
Maybe I'm not as outward about my
Condition as I should be, but
How do you know that I'm not
Fading faster than you are?

The question is, what flame are you referring to...?

I wouldn't know, would I?

My words
weren't meant
to scathe?

Old ways, schmold ways....

You forget yourself, darling.

I know not of your ways, do you remember those five days? And then silence?

I don't know well enough to know old  as I should when it applies to you.

It's about her, isn't it?

The new one.

I don't know the specifics, no would I ever want to.....

I hope her lips tasted
sweeter than
my words
ever
did

I don't like being left in the dark

I'll always care, but I need to know

You don't know about the recent spirals, the pain, the inner torture

It'd do me grace to find someone still cared.

But...I'm not a guilt tripper either.

I don't drop things.

Not friends, names, or pasts.

Most importantly, memories.

Answer me.

Was it about me?

I often do that a lot.

Find words that mean what I wish she'd say.

But the real question lies thus;

who was that meant for?

I can no more weave words
than an arthritic spider.

All I do is open my fingertips
and let loose the emotions too powerful
to let out of my mouth
in hopes that they aren't sullied by the printed letter.

How is this silver?

I do wish someone would tell me
what effect,
to what extent,
my words
can inspire
love

and oh, if only that love
were in the eyes
of the muse

I had you convinced.

And if you don't admit it,
You're kidding yourself.