âThe first poem I wrote that wasnât about you was in all capital letters like it was trying to compensate for your absence. It was about a world far away from this one where all of the plants were terrifying but had healing powers if you had the guts to touch them. The first poem I wrote that wasnât about you puffed up its throat like a bullfrog and begged to be kissed. Its my favorite poem because I hate it so much. I read it at least once a day and think:So this is what Iâm capable of without you. Go figure. There is a hole in everything and I find you there smiling like you donât have anywhere else to be. The first poem I wrote that wasnât about you might one day be regarded as a masterpiece. People will come from all over the world to run their fingers over the print and marvel at how empty it is of you. They will not recognize your scent clinging silently to their fingers. Because if you walk into a room and notice what is missing from it it is still there isnât it? The first poem I wrote that wasnât about you was still about you. Damn it. Always.â
â a letter to love | Caitlyn Siehl
