Love letter # 49
If only you could feel the fire – then you would know – and I wouldn’t need these tepid stand-ins, these words that say nothing.
I have no langauge for these tides. This ocean will not fit into a cup.
I would fumble. You would run. I would seem mad. You would seem cruel. Fear would win.
Better to love you quietly tonight. Wiser to forget where the phone is.
I might pray instead – seek the elusive favour of angels – speed some helpful cupid your way. They would say it better than me. They would let you know.
Until then … just words – and their stubborn little sibling. Hope.