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You.
This is You.
Beauty. Trust. Perfect.
Me.
This is Me.
Silence. Stolen. Broken.

The sun illuminates the night
Dragging behind it all the light
That you have stolen since the day
You smiled in that simple way.

When you walk, you float on air,
Your eyes reveal your every care.
To be one, it seems, I have been graced,
Yet, in love, I'm out of place.

I've turned the music up so loud,
But it cannot drive your image out.
I light every candle in my room,
Yet still I'm plagued with dreams of you.

And so my pen devours my page,
Not a poet in an age
Can rival me with you behind
Every thought inside my mind.

Why can I write to wake the dead
Unless the thing needs to be read?
Why can I weave words like they were cloth,
But attempt with voice, and they are lost?

You want to hear the words out loud,
Confirm your fears and theories how
They broke my heart and dashed my dreams,
And tore away my broken wings.

The truth is this, my darling one,
I am a stranger to this 'love'.
It's a feeling I rarely receive,
And it makes me afraid to speak.

When I talk, you watch my eyes,
Can you see through my clever guise?
Your voice, it cracked that night you spoke,
And in that crack, my heart, it broke.

And now I write this on thin ice,
And while I know it won't suffice,
Maybe someday, this, you will read,
And for my silence, forgive me.

You.
This is you.
Poking. Prodding. Perfection.
Me.
This is me.
Ink. Silence. Reflection.