Poems & Short stories

A lover with out his love

I write her name, over and over. In cursive, in new roman, comic and more. Different styles, different colors, different angles. Making sure every square inch of the paper has not one blank spot of a vowel in her name.

And even as the summer is not time to do math willingly, I can't help but add two and two together. With the answer of love after the equals sign. So fond of the solid sign, knowing the difference between its look alike squiggle partner to then be changed to a roundabout. Equals... meaning absolutely, positively the answer. Love. And a box around it, proving that nothing else could be mistaken for the real answer.

What's on my mind you ask? Her name always seems to come out first. Or something about her. Whether it's the way she is set off too easily, or about her kind and caring spirit. It's always about her. Wondering what is she doing right now? How does she feel, who is on her mind? What is she wearing to day? Why does she have to be so far away? When is the next time I can see her? What is the next thing I can do to please her? Am I enough?

My dreams, long to come true, in each other’s arms once again. To hear those whispers she said in my ear that no one shall hear. To be alone, in our secret place of 'just us' and do what the rules out side said that aren't aloud. To hug her close at night and not feel so alone.

There's a part of me missing, aching, cold, yearning. And my sorrow turns to frustration and anger when hugging a pillow can't compare, to her warmth, and curves. When my hands reach up and don't run threw her thick long hair and caress her beautifully sculpted gentle face. Not to have her innocently sweet smile and gaze, telling me, "good morning."

On the outside I show that I'm fine. But only if someone was to scratch threw, they would see how broken I am.

She is the Moon, on my starry night sky. The Sun on my perfect summer day. And without her, I'm a withered rose with no water.