Darling, my sincerest apology
I told you, you would never die
if you chose to stick with me.
I promised you forever
saying I was a writer
I was so sure words were powerful
and I would capture every moment in the paper.
And I did at first
for the most part
every time my pen and paper met
you were what I wrote about.
I wrote about you.
And I tried to act, the way all poets do.
I craved you in my paper
I claimed I loved you.
And I did love you.
Even though I was using fancy words I didn't quite get
my feelings were simple and true.
You were my muse
and I admit there were times I was exaggerating
but either ways I kept my promise
I was still writing.
Or so I thought
I didn't know this would happen you see
I didn't know it was possible
I didn't know words would fail me.
Or did I fail them instead?
Was I the one who couldn't keep their wish?
Because lately I can't write about you
I have become too selfish.
And it's not because I love you less
if it's possible I love you more than ever
that ironically is the reason
why I no longer want you in my paper.
Because I am no poet, I admit
and there are feelings that don't have words that fit.
But even when they do, and I know all about it
I have become too selfish to share and write about it.
Too selfish to write about the moments we've had
Too selfish to give the paper what I feel, when you are around.
So darling, I apologize sincerely
but I have come to like our world better, when it's just you and me.
And that's why I have decided to keep some part of us hidden
because some feelings are too good to be written.