To speak with you, my love, is to put into words a fraction of what I mean, how I feel, what I want. I am burning with the words we leave unsaid
It’s keeping me warm
I kid myself, thinking that we don’t have to say everything, that we’re so in tune that we can read each other and know the words we leave unsaid,
It almost feels good
But it hurts, my darling, wondering, lying awake, seeking, almost relaxed with you and then I’m analysing, agonising over the words we leave unsaid,
Sometimes, I torture myself and think you may not have any words you’ve left unsaid, sometimes,
I’m sure it’s the truth














