You do not send perfumed love notes
But poorly-constructed Tweets.
Your sweet nothings are whispered in crackled voicenotes.
Your gifs are worth a thousand words.
We used to pay for calls by the minute
And texts would cost 10p.
An unjust world attempted to monetise the worth of your words.
To be seen.
Not just to be seen, but to be looked at.
And when looked at, to be looked at with understanding;
An acceptance that comprehends more than is known.
To be heard.
Not just to be heard, but to be listened to.
And when listened to, to listen to the words which are said, unsaid, and in-between;
To find meaning in intention not yet committed to action.
To be touched.
Not just to be touched, but to be felt.
And when felt, to be felt entirely;
To be embraced without judgement.
It’s like he couldn’t stop himself from saying stupid things.
It’s like it was an impulse that he just could not keep in.
So it’s like it was an out-pulse but he didn’t miss a beat.
It was constant and confusing every time he tried to speak.
I love it when you sing to me– I love you feeling heard.
I love each single letter of each syllable, each word.
I love it when the rhythm’s wrong, I love you out of tune;
I love to hear you humming on your own in the next room.
I love it when your voice cracks and I love it when it breaks.
I love your perfect melodies, but I cherish your mistakes.