I hope you write too

As I said before, I will never write again - I will never offer a poem for you. That last piece of poetry I passed away a year ago, tucked away in the sea erasing every image wrapped in sand - one year I watched the fall of every leaf of memory soiled and torn by the wind.

I thought it was the latter, as I recited in front of you every free match created from the depths of a secret love wound - but there was no secret that was not revealed so it would be appropriate to publish the sentiment on each leaf. re-emergence although I still don't know if it will reach autumn.

I thought it was my last encounter with each word with a message of emergence. I thought I would be able to appear right away, appear willingly and consistently apply each poem to the very purpose of each fall.

I have forgiven you many times but you come back many times - neither do I know if I should blame fate or whether I really need to accept it as part of my submission and reconciliation with Him. I encountered you so many times in a dream that I almost wondered why.

Your calendar list is filled with calendar dates of how many times you have been a guest on my sleep and sleep. It's not like I'm knocking on my pillow and blanket to help you - see if I can meet you and I'm not hesitating anymore.

We are met again and again where we first met and made promises to put Him first and there we finish each beginning with a sweet and flowery description of the words "if we really are." But I have repeatedly denied Him because I know you are for Him and I cannot say that tomorrow is open to us with a single door.

I cannot bury every memory that has become part of who I am today, past times they said I should just walk away and never walk. And if I were to rehearse each stage, I would not know how to encompass them with a kind of spice in every line of the poem.

I don't know if it fits the heart **** nor sometimes you can't open it. I have laid before Him everything with my forgiveness, with every prayer I have for His life in you - prayers for the building of your faith, for the deepening of your relationship with Him.

And no, I can't imagine that this is the way He does for me - that is, that he clings to every single person around me just to meet you.

Several times I avoided the sky with a warning that the time had come - the time when I could and could do it. We avoided playing as if we were playing the Interviewer and it was exhausting - it was boring to play because we didn't want to mess with nothing.

I chose to leave you but I didn't give up on you - I was just waiting to hear from you.

And yes, I do not want to waste hours and moments reserved for you to grow in Him. From then on, that was my only prayer to Him. And even as we appear over and over again, I love Him even more. Yes, His love for both of us was so heavy that it was better not to be alone in fear, but in prayers that were pleasing to Him when our Father was alone.

And yet, even though I can't check myself if this is the last piece, I still won't make it through writing. Even with the ink shedding on my pen I could keep writing.

And the poems with such an ending will never end. I also don't know when it will fit and if I should align each fabric differently.

However, every ink of every term has the same emphasis - a message I cannot speak, cannot speak face to face with so much like Rizal, I prefer this to be a style of emotional rebellion. It's a message I can't even name and will remain a myth --- a legend I don't know if you will come or not. I'm going to cover the whole table with overflowing whispers, for now: you should write. Now, you should give it a title - a title if there is even a "we" in the last lines or do we just focus on it and create a new chapter.