If I would compile all the words left unsaid
I could build a mountain-piled sheets
There are these novels you have not read
Hidden as mystery of loud heartbeats
Others might think of love like it’s a fairytale
While I write the story of jitters and blurs
Terrified that ink stains on pages might fail
Sweet and sad revealing wonderful curse
Somebody has gotten no idea he’s being written
It is but fair to do so for I do not know, too
Telling you that I love you has been forbidden
You didn’t know and I hope I told you.
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