I’ll Wait for You in the Shadows Between Words

Prose Poetry

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Each letter I pen is another ode to the afternoons we used to share back before romance was ever a destination on the road map.

— the touch of you, how I miss it, crave it, that dance we always hid behind closed doors —

Every brush of ink across the paper’s surface is another lament that words must bridge the distance between our bodies, yours on one continent while mine languishes in a parlor room.

— the sight of you, that relief in knowing you could hold my hand if only I held out mine in invitation, the rush of gazing at you while you had no idea I was looking —

Each missive is another long story of words unsaid, the things that historians would pick apart for clues, but what time do we have to think of the years after we are gone?

— the scent of you, the mixture of spicy and sweet, the barest hints of apple and cinnamon from your breakfast —

Every day is another education in waiting, waiting, waiting.

— the voice you have, gentleness sleeved in an informed delivery, the way you laugh and how it trickles out of you in bursts —

Each moment is one fewer we have left, and I wish — wish so much it hurts — that this war would end and we could…