We loved but we were never lovers,
not like the ones in old Hollywood movies
who walk into each other’s lives
and leave hoping we could have been more,
for there was nothing more to this story
that could have turned out differently.

All that remains are brief moments
of calling out your name now and again.
The mere sound of it dripping from my tongue
brings resounding sensations
ringing deeper the more it’s repeated,
but it won’t bring you back.

Never before has a beloved
been associated to the sweetest seduction
brought forth by three little letters strung together.

Whether spoken aloud or quietly within,
the tingling it brings confirms and comforts
this impassioned aching.

Such tender expressions linger in the still air,
as do the times when we were between
our first hellos and our unsaid goodbyes.

And yet, still I crave
for the way your words caressed my ears
and held on between our beating hearts.

Every turn flourished this deep-seated affection
into the brightest blossom
that now returns every season.

And the birds, they sing too—
they sing for you.
In all their boastful, colorful glory
dreadfully calling for your return.

I dare not tell them.
They’re too fragile
to take such tragic news.

Come now, where do you keep yourself?
Tucked away with no intention to stir or bother ever again?
Well, sir, we beg of you to bother us once more.

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