I think we should be together for more reasons than one.
For example, my favorite songs are melodies, and you always liked to hum.
But perhaps the hum of the drum can’t close the chasm of space, so I offer another one.
I shy from touch—I shrink away,
It startles, it stings, it’s never stayed.
To be held always felt like too much,
but when your fingers intertwined with mine,
it didn’t seem to bother me much.
No, now it’s all I want,
because the thought of your hand in mine becoming a memory
is something I can’t unfeel.
Three—I like to think I’m fun, but you keep me moving,
you pull me forward, push me further, make me more.
Four—I can’t imagine another concert
without your hand in mine,
without adding another song to our story’s score.
Five—you know me better than the rest.
They say I don’t tell, but to you, I always do.
Not my own, but the whispers I swore I’d keep—
yet somehow, they slip, because with you, silence never stays.
Six—I was never the main character,
always watching from the wings.
But when I lie at your side, the world quiets,
the chaos stills,
and for once, I am real.
Seven—I never feared death,
but now the thought of our story unfinished
haunts me more than being gone.
Eight—why not try?
Would it be hard? Would it hurt? Would it take work?
Yes.
But what if it could be great?
What if it could be the greatest love story ever told?
Nine—I won’t ask again,
but I’m weary of answering the same question:
Why aren’t we already an “us”?
And finally, ten—
I could write poem after poem about you
and never seem to find the end.
