Wednesday, April 6, 2016


What more do I have to give to you than this string of carefully put together words?
There's an awkward, shy smile that beams foolishly at your sight.
A bunch of ridiculous, cheesy lines that you never seem to find funny.
There are my hands that fit yours perfectly, but we never do hold hands in public.
There is no ring on my finger too.

I can't fly off to exotic locales with you either, even when I want to have you all to myself.
I can't even play you a song on a guitar.
No verse I can sing to make you forget the weariness of this world.

I'm not even the looker, no fabled Greek goddess, who has adoration come to her easily.

But you're kind my love.
For you see in my words little traces of magic.
You see in them the quiet memory of a nightly walk by the ocean.
In them you listen to my laughter, look deep within my sunken eyes.
With these words you travel with me to places we could not go today.
I write, like you sing your songs, perhaps.
You sing because it comes to you without the expectation of applause.
I will give you everything in me, and more.
But on nights when we are far, take these words from me.
They may not be much, but they will make you smile, maybe.
They will make you smile.
And that is enough.

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