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.





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