I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows

My heart was paper
 now folded six times over
 to make it harder
 to tear
 I only hope that


Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another

I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes

I say hello and you say nothing You may hear me you may even think of a response

You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did

The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight

I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting