I once dated a writer

He was also a musician; he used to forget many things but used to remember the little things. He used to have a soft loving voice, (I never told, but his voice used to turn me on, and I needed to listen to that voice every day.) he wasn’t the best singer in the world but I loved his voice so much. He used to write letters and poems for me, and each night I would read them carefully full of excitement, I never showed him, what I wrote for him, never. And the first time we kissed, I couldn’t take it anymore all I could ever say was “I love you I love you I love you I love you” while kissing his neck up and down many times until I reached his lips. The way he used to take me into his arms, the way he used to kiss me, that way he used to look at me, I was irrevocably, terribly in love with him. I was never hit that way by love, never. But, I never told him.

So now, I’m here all alone. Regretting everything I never told him because he’s now somewhere else, with someone else. Regretting everything I never told him because I miss him day by day and I can’t tell him, I just can’t. Is it pride? I don’t know.

I don’t doubt that maybe just maybe you still love me, and that you’re wishing that one day we can be together again, and love again but, love right. I can tell by the way you saw me, when you were with her sitting next to each other. I can tell by what you told me that night, and how your lips whispered those words slowly and pretty pronounced. I really can’t control fate, but as I said before if we’d love again, I swear I would love you right.