A budding writer's collection

For Every Year We've Shared And The Ones We're Yet To Share

There comes a stage in every love,

When it becomes less of an effort,

And more of a nature of being.

There comes a stage in writing,

When all the words become superfluous,

Yet inadequate to capture the heart's speak.

There comes a stage in feelings,

Where you've felt all that is known,

And still know that they don't house all that you can feel.

So, there is no word,

There is no feeling

And yet, there is everything all at once.

Affection—for all that you are,

And all that is you

Happiness—every moment I share with you,

And each laugh that cements it in the memory.

Gratitude—for your gift of vulnerability,

And each tear you shed inside that wall of trust.

Hope—that we'll always be together,

And that the infinite time houses our love.

Maybe these words can never truly hold the warmth,

Maybe the intensity of it strips meaning bare.