Handwritten Poetry

He gave me a handwritten love poem.

 

It was full.

 

It contained all the words I wanted to hear and more. It was not ashamed of showing its flaws. I cherish it because it has all the rights and wrongs. It reflected his humanity; it revealed his imperfections, especially his insecurity, but a handsome insecurity it was.

 

The paper was not perfect.

 

It had wrinkles and deep creases, a result of constant fumbling and folding. It was always being stuffed in or ripped out of his pocket. It is wasn't a clean sheet. His words were written on the back of a flyer--a paper of an entirely different purpose. It babbled of his impatience, but an inviting impatience it was.

 

It is his imprint.

 

His scent engulfs it. His voice, word for word, dominates it. He denied the tradition to carefully print each line in strict precision. He freed himself of such limitations; he poured his flaws over to me through that old, damaged paper. But a lovely paper is it.

 

I accept it. I love him.

Reviews

[We May Well Be The Ones]

this is sweet.

it's always reassuring when someone lets meander away from what you consider the norm.


this piece makes me happy for you.

[jenbem]

this is such a wonderful story!
I love the idea of a person and paper (or poem) being one for a while and them being gifted away. I think in a way we all do that with our poetry.

I really like this and I think that a handwritten poem would be the most treasured gift that could be given.