Words often fail to capture the melodies a heart sings. The ineptitude of a language comes not from an inadequacy, but often from the overwhelming of its wielder.
Worry not. That though our shortcomings as channels of our literature comes as a surprise, know that sometimes the words we inhabit are simply lacking, unable, in certain regards to express what we mean. And feel. For it is truly indefinable.
I know now. I feel it in how your fingers find the gaps of my palm. To fill them, and fulfill me. I taste it, in your saccharine lips, full of a tenderness that invigorates and consumes. I see it, in the depths of your eyes. How it longs to memorize every detail, with a serenity that’s comforting. I smell it, in the musk of your skin. Together ethereal in the heaving of our exhausted breaths. Satiating. And I hear it, in the placidness of your voice, amidst the warmth of our silences.
Though the frugality of words seem to others like a hindrance to verbalize what the heart professes, I feel no need nor requisite to obligate it from you. You have always been shy to some degree. And that is what endears you to me. And I know, that though few may the words be, each is laden with sincerity. Passion. Emotion. Meaning.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Image from here.
