We write words,
In the hope that our life’s story won’t be told by our mistakes.
We pour ourselves out on paper,
Because we cannot bear to be found scattered anywhere else.
I found myself in your eyes a lot of times.
I found the me that I had so carefully hidden from the world,
Bare in your soul.
You reflected everything I was running away from.
But I held you,
Like a hymn book in church on a Sunday morning,
I touched every note of your heart with the very hands that wrote this