there was once a boy,
who loved a girl very much.
but he never said the things
he could not say.
every day
he would write a letter to her,
on his typewriter.
he made sure there were no mistakes
and sealed each envelope carefully.
he would stand at her letterbox
and think
but at the end
he would walk away
his pocket heavy with all the words he could not say
hidden in the threads
on paper and against cotton,
she had rosy cheeks and curly hair
she liked the french women singing
out of the gramophone.
she sang along, even though
she did not know what they were singing about.
he had freckles and a penchant for literature
he liked the smell of old books
and the smell of fresh bread every morning
and his mama's cooking, even though
he never told her so.
he liked to sit outside his porch
watch the world go by
and write down the words he could not say as he did.
"your smile is like the sun"
"i am so lonely"
"be mine"
she liked to take walks
watch the world go by
wishing she had someone to tallk to as she did.
every day
she would walk past him
waiting for a smile, a wave
a word. a question.
"hello."
"how are you?"
"where are you going?"
but every day,
she got none.
one day
they would grow up
and move away from here.
"anywhere but here"
he would never see her again
and she would forget
everything.
but
under his bed
is a box of letters
never sent
never read.
it is terribly important
to say the things you cannot say.
there was once a boy,
who loved a girl very much.
but he never said the things
he could not say.
