To speak with you, my love, is to put into words a fraction of what I mean, how I feel, what I want. I am burning with the words we leave unsaid
Itās keeping me warm
I kid myself, thinking that we donāt have to say everything, that weāre so in tune that we can read each other and know the words we leave unsaid,
It almost feels good
But it hurts, my darling, wondering, lying awake, seeking, almost relaxed with you and then Iām analysing, agonising over the words we leave unsaid,Ā
Sometimes, I torture myself and think you may not have any words youāve left unsaid, sometimes,Ā
Iām sure itās the truth

















