Words.

I write you Love letters on
stained bar napkins and used matchbooks.
I never let you read them,
Because I fear you'd find them cliche.
I keep them anyway,
Stored in a shoebox locked away in my heart.
Most people think in pictures,
But I,
I think in words and phrases.
The memories I have with you are
Metaphors and similes,
Phrases and clauses,
etched on the paper walls of my mind.
They say that love
Can make a poet out of anyone.
But you were a poet long before I met you.
I have kept every word you have ever written to me,
Because I am a hopeless romantic,
And I wanted to keep you close,
When you existed a world away.
I never told you how I felt,
Never told you I'd kept little pieces of you,
Never told you I'd never let go of you.
I loved you.
Wordlessly,
Selflessly,
Speechlessly
And all I have
Are words I wanted to say to you.
Letters I should have sent,
Even when you lived a world away.
I still somehow believe
That our hearts have always beat in sync.
I still love you
And in my star-crossed happily ever after
Trains of thought,
You are there.
Waiting for me.