Too often I forget that you can't see my thoughts,
I assume you are more aware than you let on.
Your insight in many ways is matched only by
your empathy and compassion.
I've been leaving too many words on the cutting room floor,
Letting them slip back into the space between us.

If I put my hand in yours, can I share everything with you?
My deepest traumas, fears and hopes, all the colour inside.
I stumble over the words, as you weather my currents.
We could shine like solitons together, forming a breather.
Pulsing through the night, returning over and again.
If only I could make less words left unsaid.