You came after I know that writing a poem is difficult, after I know that those poems I wrote are shitty. I thought about writing you something nice, of course. Because I need to remember you that way. But, it’s tough, no matter how exquisite the sunrise I am watching, and how mellifluous this song I am listening to right now. It’s a perfect ambience to write a love poem, actually. The more I realize this, the more irritating the insistence to write you something.
It’s crazy, you know. To feel the strong urge like that inside, but… really, I can’t find all the perfect words to express it. And somehow, it’s make me sad. Now I know what kind of day I am going through today. You always know how to put me this way—but I hope you will never know that you have the ability to do so.
I am writing this, as if you ask me for a poem. You don’t. You never really ask me anything, did you?
Questions are hard, most of them. But in this case, poems are harder—in the case of you. You make it simple just to ask a questions, even the hardest one. But, why would I want to remember you as an answer when they wouldn’t matters later?
I’ll write you something worth remember, if it won’t work with you, at least it could do something to me. Maybe not a poetry, since I’m not really sure I can pull it off. But, I’ll write something. Maybe not with your name in it, but I’ll make sure you know that I am not talking about another. We both have our own secrets, something only the two of shared to each other. Those are nice clues to find your place in quietest spot of my mind.
You don’t need to wait (I know you won’t), because when it’s done it would be too late for a new beginning.