The storm is brewing, the wind picking up
The lights flikkers, lightning strikes.
  
                             Anger - pain - fear - guilt
Swirling emotions: tossing & turning

At long last there is peace, but for how long, for we are merely in the eye of the storm.

The calm in my soul won't last much longer
when the storm reappears I fear for it's angers.

What damage will I leave in my wake, be it within my self or others.
For it is always those who care most that get swept up into the storm.

I want to tell you our story.
I want you to see it.
I want you hear it.
I want you to taste it, touch it, sense it.

I want you to feel what I feel.
Feel the happiness, the love
but also the pain and agony you've given me.

I want to tell you this story because you have no idea, because I've never told you how I feel.

I've left whatever our story could have been- Unwritten.

Ink blotches, coffee stains
cramped fingers, chronic strain.

I can't control the need,
to constantly feed,
my hollowed soul.

With pretty words and stories,
rehashing former glories.

I can't- can't stop myself.

For I'm trapped in a prison of my own design: a prison of pens and paper.

Usually I'm able to put my feelings into words.
Express my emotion eloquently, wear my heart upon my sleeve.

But with you I can't-
the mere mention of your name sends me into a tailspin.

You make me smile with just a nod.
You anger me with that crooked smirk.
You make my heart ache with yearning.
And you make me so incredibly sad when I remind myself that you'll never want to be with me. That you'll never know how I feel, good or bad.

You'll never know that my heart beats faster when I see you.
That butterflies erupt in my stomach and that my mind turns to mush.
I'll never be able to tell you- show you
any of this.

Let us celebrate the writers and the poets,
for they are the ones that bring true magic into our world.

They make us laugh until we cry, they give us hope, dreams.
They also make our eyes fill with tears, our bodies shiver in grief.

They create worlds within our own,
filled with family, friends, foes

They give us a home,
they all do this simply by using words.

If that isn't magic,
I don't know what is.