I’ve stopped writing about you.
Maybe it’s because I don’t love you anymore,
Or maybe it’s because there is nothing left to say.
Since you left there’s no more goodbyes,
That is something I don’t want to admit,
I want to feel your touch again.
I can’t write anything about being angry at you,
Or loving you,
Or holding your hand,
That’s already been done,
Here I am still being angry, loving you and craving to feel your fingers entwined with mine.
All I’m left with is a bunch of poem’s in my diary about our small time together and a bunch of feelings I don’t even want to think about.
I don’t want to write about how I felt on the day I first met you,
How I felt when I fell in love with you,
And how I felt when I lost you.
There is nothing left unsaid.
It’s as simple as that.
You just wrote what I feel.