she will never read this, yet, for her, i write

I search for ways to share my truth
Ways to give my all to you,
Yet no avenue exists in which
I can fully fulfill this wish.

I try to encapsulate in words,
In photographs temporarily procured
Yet none of these muses suffices my heart
And leaves my soul aching more.

And so, I implore these lines
These trifled words written in troubled times
And these poems to you I’ll never share,
I won’t dare, not embarrassed but a coward.

I think you are not good for me,
You cause my insides to knot
The gut clenching tightness you wrought
Like drapes garnishes daily walk.

Yet love you still I do,
Foolish and prideful.
You make each day a different hue
And the moments in silence complete.

I dare not share my works with you
Cause then you’d know me well and true
And that closeness pulls me away from you
A paradox of cupid’s arrow.

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