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,
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.