unsent letters of love

There were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending, long before I stopped writing. I don't remember their contents but I can recall with absolute clarity, your name scrawled across the pages. I could never quite contain you to those messy sheets of black ink. I could not stop you from overtaking everything else. I wrote your name over and over–on scraps of paper, in books and on the back of my wrists. I carved it like sacred markings into trees and the tops of my thighs. Months went by and few scars have vanished but the sting has not left me. Sometimes when I read a, parts will lift from the pages in an anagram of your name. Like a code to remind me it's not over. Like dyslexia in reverse.

Say something to me. Quieten this silence of yours. Fill these empty spaces with your words, no matter how insignificant you claim them to be. I once tasted too much of the universe that lingered on your lips, consumed more than I planned of those woven around your words, and from the moment you sought out to find a new home, I become flaccid from thirst

Tell me of the words left unsaid, the pieces of the story left to fade away. There are paradises scribbled between lines and across margins, over and under places they do not belong, and to leave them in the dust would be to have tasted only quarter of of the good pieces to this darkness.

Tell me of the warmth you're overflown with whenever something or someone reminds you of the little good that exists in this world, how peaceful you feel as you enjoy the feel of a warm drink slippin' down your throat and calling away the chill of your body in the middle of a thunderstorm, rolled up in a sweater or blanket with your soul smiling at the sound of chaos at your doorstep, the sudden yet pacifying waves of emotion as your heart is held hostage by a piece of music seemingly dropped in your path by the universe himself, a piece of music you wouldn't hesitate to make infinite as your body shiver to the feel of your subtle feelings being called out in the quietest moments of the night. Do you wish it could all linger for a little while longer, that time wasn't so cruel as it sped in the seconds you wish you could keep forever?

Tell me a love story of yours; and not the kind that you regret. Not the one that left splinters in your heart that grew to become thorns as you held onto a home that had flown away from you. Tell me of the love that raises the corners of your lips as you flip through the memories like a moving gallery. Of a love that keeps you hoping, a love that draws out little ponds from your eyes, and not waterfalls. Perhaps the kind of love felt between a mother and child, between family, between friends. how lucky you must have felt to have them around whenever their presence healed the wounds underneath your skin. Let me know that even with the right person, everything could go wrong.

What is it you feel when you speak of the wind and the way it dances about the earth as it settles airy kisses on every piece of nature that comes her way. Do you find it all beautiful, how, just like nature, we bundle everything in beauty in one moment and become pieces of one big storm cloud the next? Do you stay close to the beams of the moon and the sound of chaotic waves yet look, with pitiful eyes, at the clouds and rays of the sun, the mountains, the sand between your toes, the branches holding the leaves you never hesitate to admire, the caterpillar hiding between the stretching blades of grass because they never get enough love?

Say something to me– a word. a phrase. a sentence. a whisper. And if your lips are too heavy to utter a sound, there's always a touch, a simple touch that can't help but speak volumes; let your words be the notes to a song that set me free from this bind and soaring into the depths of the sky.

@a.dev___