I think of her always.

Lost in a haze of mist-coated dreams,

I seek her out in the hidden places of my heart

Where none may follow save those who have gone before.

So few, so few have there been.

Yet only one that really mattered,

She who is lost to me now between folded pages

Of a book we shall call A Chronicle Of Lost Regrets.

  This is a new chapter now.

I see her in the rain and exchange hellos

And try not to notice the moisture collected

In her long brown hair or the quickening of my troubled heart

That pounds with words left unspoken because I lack the courage to say them.

  This is not she, I remind myself.

This women has a warmth in her heart

And a smile that matches it beneath eyes

That are the same color as that rain-drenched hair.

  So I walk to my car.

As she drives away in hers with a wave

I take up my pen and turn to the next page

Before driving in the opposite direction.

END

“Unspoken”