There are so many things that you would never know about me

Simply cos you would think to ask, or would never care to listen

It wouldn’t be important to you, and I wouldn’t tell you when I speak,

There are some things which I can express better writing, or better yet,

By silence.


I love letters. Few things are as happy as a pages of handwritten words,

Mostly nonsense, mostly trivial, just for me.

Most relationships I measure in terms of the letters I’ve written.

The truth is, if I’ve written you a letter, I have loved you.


I wish you were the type of person who loved words like me

We could read poetry to each other, and write long letters

We could talk about our favourite phrases, the best words.

But you’re not in love with words like I am,

So I fall in love with other things about you:

Your eyes, your smile, the changes in your tone

And I try to ignore your words when you throw them around.


You would never know that my favourite afternoons are spent

Reciting poetry, letting the words drip slowly from my bottom lip.

You’ve never seen how my fingers quiver when they run over

A beautiful line, or an old, greying book. You don’t realize

How much I love walking into book stores, and just smiling

At the tall shelves and shiny volumes, all the different colours.


You don’t know what words mean to me, how they make my every day.

So I forgive you when you’re not careful with them,

Words aren’t the same for me and you,

And I will love you despite this.


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