I have learnedMature

I have learned
that it is difficult to write about someone,
when they are sitting there staring at you
and watching what you write.
That the words,
will drag along the lines
and seem like an eternity
to every letter.
That his eyes may or may not waver
and that I will never know
if he saw what I had put down
or if he had not noticed
because his mind was to his guitar.
How I could barely tell
the blue in his eyes
from the pixels in the screen,
to see if they had moved across the words
meant for him.
If his voice had cracked a little,
seeing what I had spread out
as delicate as I could
that I am in love with him;
and the way that he sings
as if he is in a world all his own
and invites me to share it with him,
the way he smiles
when I pick out the constellations in his eyes
the galaxies reserved
for me to get lost in.
That I will not know
if he had seen the ideas
tortured between words
of how to say
"I have been hoplessly
and irrevocably
in love with you."
and that I will not know
if he let the words spill like ink
like he knew what I was trying to say.
I learned
that I cannot write
when I barely know the words to put down
when he looks me in the eyes
and says "I'm in love with you, too."

The End

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