Love Letter of the Quiescent

10/04/2020

When I first met you, I knew nothing of who you were,

And I, a tender leaf, sought out your voice, called out your name,

And revelled in the choicest of your words.

I thought with time I would gain a familiarity... that never did come.

I taught you my voice, shared my own song, and gave you the keys to my soul.

I shared with you a garden of words-- our words...

But what can I make of a garden of words with no keeper, no gardener,

Nor tender loving care?

Would you have me rest in a bed of thorns?

Would you have me wait for your redamancy

While I pour out my own verdant soul to its last potency?

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, but your words bore thorns

Where I least expected them.

I have shared with you my blooms in all the splendour I have to offer.

Yet, your innermost petals are still closed away from my face.

Why should I open mine to the final stage, that I might wither away,

When you cannot bear to show me your outermost petals?

Our roots have twisted and tangled.

I have given you my all.

And yet...

I still know nothing of who you are.