I write what I can't say a loud. I'm trying not to think about you, but I can't resist. My mind drifts to your slow smile, how it moves from your lips to your eyes - or is it reverse? How it lifts me from my ordinary self. When we're talking and others join us, when you laugh with them, I feel tangled up, angry. I struggle not to be rude. I want to be alone with you. I love our aloneness. When I listen to music, I imagine slow dancing with you, and you whisper, "You are my one true love," and I smile. I now know why people write music, paint, and dance, lifted as if they can fly. Because this ache crashing inside needs to be free. Sometimes, love becomes a melody others hum for years.