I pen these poems
and write these words
and think these thoughts
and wonder.
I wonder if they
even matter at all.
Why do words
mean so much?
I say and
you listen and
it’s not like anything changes.
Why can’t I be happy
without you?
I don’t think I know
what happiness even is anymore.
I used to think it meant
your hand holding mine
but would you think
I’m silly or crazy
if you knew I wrote continuously
about the curl of your lips
and the scent of your skin?
I’ve never been one
for romance,
candlelight and flowers,
but aren’t these poems
pure romance?
Is romance only
what we see in movies
and Hallmark commercials?
Or can it be wrestling
in the morning and
long drives
in the afternoon and
jokes late at night?
Can it just be the longing
we feel for something lost
that is just beyond
our reach?
Would you laugh
at my never ending stream
of yearning words?
Or would your heart
finally remember the past
and the future
that we promised
to each other?


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