Poems That Bloom With Your Name

As I write this, I'm sitting at my corner desk. A warm light and a hazy but cozy music repeats itself.

In a frantic that I might not be able to remember verses that make you, I jot this down.

Ultimately, I want my thoughts of you to be tucked away somewhere far, somewhere safe. Like a dusty old book at the top shelf in a lonely library.

I know you'll be out there somewhere, and when I long for you, I'll reach out to this, these verses that poured out of me, for you.

I'm no poet. I'm no artist. But from my depths, you, you alone pulled out these words. I've left mistakes uncorrected, verses raw, for in this plentiful universe, only you remain flawless.

Words that hurt. Words that healed. Words that filled.