That’s Why I Write

I couldn’t call you,
tell you I miss you,
or ask how your day has been.

I couldn’t send you love letters,
smile with you in photographs,
or make you listen to songs that remind me of you.

I couldn’t laugh at your milk mustache
after you take a sip from your cup of latte.
Dang, I couldn’t even ask you to have some coffee with me.

I couldn’t have those 4 AM conversations with you.
I actually never did with anybody.
But in case I would ever do,
I wouldn’t mind if it’s going to be with you.

I couldn’t look straight into your eyes,
hold your hand,
or listen intently as you whisper my name.

I couldn’t watch sunsets with you by my side,
or stay awake ’til dawn as we sit comfortably in silence.

I couldn’t give you the weirdest and the most useless gifts.
Maybe sticky notes filled with all the words and phrases I know
that all boil down to simply “I love you”.

I couldn’t tell you secrets
I’ve buried way too deep.

I couldn’t even tell you
anything
at all.

There are a lot of things I couldn’t do,
but at least I could write about you.

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