Words For Her

A collection of my thoughts clumsily penned as poetry

[notgreatwithwords]

It’s been a while,

nearly two whole years.

Do you ever think about me?

Do you wonder how I’ve changed?

How I’m doing?

What I’m doing?

If I still think about you?

That one’s easy.

How couldn’t I?

719 days,

and I’ve spent every one

thinking about you.

Oh, I wish you could just tell me

how your soul is.

Maybe we’ve both changed,

not too much,

just enough

to be familiarly new.

Just enough

to rediscover each other,

to learn one another again,

still know which words sound the sweetest.

What do I do with all this?

With all the love that was here?

What do I do with the memories?

Where do I put it?

Where does love go

when there’s no one left to give it to?

[notgreatwithwords]

I’ll spend the rest of my life making up these missed moments.

Either to you,

or to myself.

But I’ll never forget the days I wasted,

time slipped through my fingers,

and I’ll never forgive my hands for letting go.

[notgreatwithwords]

[notgreatwithwords]

For the first time in so long,

I felt the urge to message you.

To see your name,

to hear your voice,

to sit in your arms,

talk about everything

and nothing.

I wrote it all out,

how I’d contact you again.

Your name at the top of the screen,

my thumb hovering,

scared to death I’d press send by mistake.

Typed words I cannot say yet,

they sat there,

burning.

If not now, then when?

There will never be a perfect time.

But I stopped myself.

I’m not where I need to be,

not for you.

No foundation,

just a heart pulling forward

while my life lags behind.

Every day

I don’t move closer,

every day

I feel I’m failing you.

I’ve waited years

to talk to you again.

Maybe I’ll hear words

I don’t want,

what’s a few more weeks

against all this waiting?

[notgreatwithwords]

I felt whole in your arms,

as if someone finally saw me,

chose me.

Your fingers traced my hand,

and I let you unwrap me, my love.

Tear me down,

pull me apart,

make me face the hidden places

I buried from the world,

Hid from myself.

See them,

and tell me it’s okay.

Tell me I am still worthy of being loved.

Tell me you see who I am,

and still want me.

When your head nestled in my shoulder

it felt natural, my love

as if this was all I was made for.

I had been wandering,

clueless for so long.

But with you I no longer had to think.

Loving you was simply who I am.

[notgreatwithwords]

My love is visceral,

a force untamed,

a fire that does not flicker

but engulfs.

It knows nothing of shallow waters,

safe and steady,

only the depths of the open sea,

wild, unrelenting,

pulling everything into its tide.

I do not love in halves.

I do not love in whispers.

My love is a suffocating closeness,

a squeeze that lingers,

a plunge, never a dip.

It does not know awkward silences,

only rooms filled with laughter so deep

it shakes the walls,

so full

there is no space for doubt.

My love builds palaces of calm,

yet chaos dances in its halls,

the echoes of a whirlwind,

the rush of something too big to contain.

My love consumes,

and it is all my love knows.

[notgreatwithwords]

To wait,

not knowing when to stop,

Is the train on its way,

or has it long since left the station?

I swear,

I catch a glimpse of you

across the platform.

Cream floral dress,

brown leather bag,

your eyes catching sunlight,

glistening.

And then a train flashes past.

6:15 to New Street.

Not my train.

Not my love.

I’m still waiting.

Should I take the next train

back to you?

What if you’re not ready?

What if you’ll never be?

What if the time is now?

What if the time is never?

The trains run to a schedule,

Nothing changes.

I’m not sure if this is bravery,

or cowardice.

Should I still be waiting?

I don’t think I’m ready.

But time is so short.

And we have a lifetime to live,

There may never be a perfect time.

There’s just the time.

And that’s all we ever get.

[notgreatwithwords]

They’re my dreams,

But I keep it quiet.

Locked away,

In a box I can still hold.

So I can control who sees it,

Who it hurts.

Because if it doesn’t work out,

what then?

What do I do

with their knowing eyes,

their stinging pity.

He wanted,

but couldn’t have.

They’ll know I carry that.

So I carry it alone.

I’ve never wanted out loud.

But I want love.

God, I want love.

Still, I won’t ever say those words.

It’s always felt wrong to admit.

Why does it feel like shame?

Why am I not allowed

to desire?

Why is it a crime,

to want someone,

to want something?

[notgreatwithwords]

I’ve never met a woman like you.

And I don’t think I ever will again.

You were everything.

If only you could see yourself

through my eyes.

You’d understand why,

I saw my future

when I looked at you.

I’ll always look for a heart like yours.

Good, even when the world wasn’t.

And I watched silently in awe,

as you offered light to people,

who only ever brought rain.

Your goodness, unyielding,

untouched by bitterness.

When you were in my arms,

or met my gaze,

my heart thundered.

Do you know what you did to me?

Do you know,

how you made me feel?

Like the luckiest man,

Like time waited for us to be done,

Like I could drown,

in the deep brown of your eyes.

Indulge myself in the sweetness of your soul.

I never worked it out.

How someone like me,

with my plethora of faults,

got the blessing

of meeting someone like you.

I hope no one else gets the privilege.

[notgreatwithwords]

All I have of you are memories.

No clothes to scorch my skin,

no jewellery to weigh against me.

No dying flowers to perfume the air

with the scent of despair.

No chocolates to sweeten this bitterness.

Not even a photograph

for my eyes to burn holes through.

But I hear your laugh echo in the wind,

your whispers

haunt the spaces between my breaths.

How many more nights will I lie here,

staring at the ceiling,

waiting for sleep that never comes?

I feel your head sink into my shoulder,

your fingers

trace the tired lines in my palm as I wake.

Your voice sits beside me

when I bask in sunlight.

You’re there each time I close my eyes

always looking back.

You exist only in my mind now,

and from there, you torment me.

We’re both here in the same world,

but not together.

And worst of all

there is no evidence of you.

No proof we ever were.

[notgreatwithwords]

But if this doesn’t work out,

perhaps it will be enough to know you’re happy.

That you’ve become a better person,

you can love without regret,

be someone else’s joy,

an amazing mother to someone else’s squishys.

Maybe the love that was here

will linger,

stay as a whisper in my chest,

maybe that is enough.

To know you were everything,

and I had to let you go.

Sitting in that booth,

laughing across that dinner table.

Soft smiles.

Those beautiful brown eyes,

so full of wonder.

Maybe that will be enough.

Maybe the life I dreamed for us,

even if it never had the chance to leave my pillow.

Maybe the squeeze,

the way you wrapped around my arm.

Safe.

Maybe that will be enough.

Telling me you hope this works out,

our entangled fingers.

Cups of caramel iced lattes,

and iced hibiscus tea,

two pumps of peach.

Maybe that will be enough.

Your feather like touch,

the way I imagined our children,

with your round cheeks,

and gentle eyes.

Maybe that will be enough.

When you saw an ambulance

you would whisper a prayer.

A private audience with God

for the soul in the back.

Buying cups of hot chocolate,

for the homeless in winter.

Maybe these memories

that will haunt me for a lifetime,

these feelings that may never leave.

These thoughts and emotions,

trapped between my ribcage.

Maybe that will be enough.

[notgreatwithwords]

You unraveled me,

not just the makeshift costume,

I wore so futilely to hide,

but the very fabric of my soul,

the fibres of my being.

Tore my jacket open.

Pulled the puffed up filling out,

feathers and cotton in the air,

the first snowfall of the year.

Ripped apart my T-shirt.

The cheap fabric showed no resistance

shards of the graphic fell,

into a collage on the floor,

a mirror forming amongst the fractures.

Disassembled my high school blazer.

A little harder than the last cloth.

Padding slowed you down,

the shoulders a little thinner,

under the weight of what had been carried.

Teased each cord out my blue school jumper,

the one I wore when I was ten.

Unpicked the frayed stitching.

Poked through the holes in my elbows,

left from hours of concentrated scribbling,

trying to find the right words.

You gathered the scraps of me in your hands.

A bundle of mismatched fabrics,

asked “why so many layers?”

You told me you knew what to do with this,

mess, and fashioned a patchwork quilt,

wrapped it around me.

Warm, comforting, safe,

your arms holding us together.

Then you left.

In my hands the fabric fell apart.

I stood,

cradling an armful of thread,

no idea how to stitch myself whole

without you.

[notgreatwithwords]

“There’s something about the sky”

I watched the sun set today.

The beautiful summer sun,

roaring and fierce.

That saffron orb suspended,

so bright and clear,

the edge of the raging inferno so sharp.

It painted the sky,

with hues of purple and pink,

the colours melting together,

like a watercolour dream.

I thought about you,

while I watched the sun set.

Wondered how it might feel

to have your head in my lap,

catch the last rays,

the warmth tingling,

as they kissed our skin,

to run my fingers across yours,

Silken and tender,

and kiss your hand,

as we say goodbye to the day.

Colours danced across the horizon,

and all I wanted,

Was to share it with you,

hear you tell me,

There’s something about the sky.

[notgreatwithwords]

I think I knew from the beginning.

At first, it was just fun

talking to you,

laughing at nothing,

letting the hours slip by without notice.

You were different,

a breath of fresh air.

And I liked it.

But I realised you were something else.

Something rare.

Kind,

intelligent,

funny in a way that made me feel seen.

You knew how to give, how to take,

how to meet me halfway.

Every time we spoke,

and even when we didn’t,

I kept falling.

Phone calls until the birds sang,

nights that bled into mornings.

And when I finally met you,

it wasn’t some dramatic, cinematic moment.

It wasn’t love at first sight.

It was something quieter,

deeper.

I just knew.

This is my person.

When your hands wrapped around my arms,

they fit,

like they were made for me,

like we were made for each other.

[notgreatwithwords]

When we stopped talking,

I told you I’d come back

when the time was right.

But I said, don’t wait for me.

If someone else finds you,

Go. Live your life.

I meant the words,

but they taste like ash now.

Because truth be told,

the thought of you with someone else

makes me sick.

My heart sinks,

when I imagine your laugh

ringing out for someone who isn’t me.

That soft smile,

those warm eyes,

meeting another gaze

that isn’t mine.

My stomach twists,

churns, revolts,

at the idea of your fingers,

interlaced with a hand

that won’t hold you like I do,

like I would.

The world starts spinning

and I can’t find the ground.

I said go.

But every part of me wants to scream,

stay.

Find me again,

or I’ll find you.

We’ll make our way back

We’ll return to each other,

my love.

[notgreatwithwords]

“I pray for your happiness like I pray for mine.”

Except I don’t.

I pray for your happiness more.

For your health,

your success,

your peace.

For forgiveness to find you

and for Allah to hold you close.

I pray for your protection

from harm, from sin,

from paths not written for you,

from hearts that don’t deserve yours,

from men who won’t love you like I do,

from men who aren’t me.

I pray for us.

For ease in what’s difficult,

for love to remain gentle,

for blessings to fill the spaces between us,

And mercy that lasts a lifetime.

I pray for a home together,

for a life of shared laughter,

a house full of little squishys,

with your smile and stubbornness,

the coolness of our eyes.

I pray to grow old with you,

days spent in foreign streets,

nights wrapped in each others arms.

I pray I’m never deprived

of the warmth of your presence,

of the beauty you carry in your soul.

I don’t pray for my happiness.

I pray for you.

[notgreatwithwords]

I go round and round in circles,

these words spinning back to the same place.

It’s you.

It’s always you.

You fill the quiet,

the in-between moments,

the spaces I forget to guard.

And I want to tell you

all the time,

every time.

But I remind myself I can’t,

not anymore.

So here I am,

again and again,

writing the things I’ll never say,

Typing messages

that will never reach you.