To understand and be misunderstood.
Stories made from stolen glances and borrowed time
Magic dashed between letters and spaces and lack of punctuation.
A writer’s heart holds both blessing and curse
This is the only thing I understand.
I am prone to the trap of turning people into paper
so thin and malleable but full of possibilities
a blank page for my heart’s desires
But people are not meant to be trapped in between pad and pen.
I tried to write love songs but my words were to firm to sway to a beat
too clear to be repeated
the lines too much mine to be sung by anyone else.
There is no room in these syllables to rhyme to another’s rhythm
I cannot remember the last time words flowed so freely from my fingers.
Emerging after the long winter they embrace my pages
Taking breath as if for the first time.
Letters, words, wrapped in our spaces
Joined in the holiest union
For ourselves more than anyone.
Do you understand