she writes a lonely ode

“I want to do things so wild with you that I
don’t know how to say them.” Anais Nin

(she doesn’t know I watch her,
when she writes)

I was alone, until we found each other.
I have always been different from others,
in my yearning that constantly drives me
to discover the wonders of this blooming world,
the riches to be taken, absorbed, to love, and
be loved in return. and your passion reflects
my own, your pursuit of the extraordinary, your

vitality and vibrancy in loving, and in making love.
when we are apart, my longing obliterates my other
passions, until I can neither read nor write, nor even
so much as bake bread. and I cannot understand
those who are able to come to a full stop, to eat,
and to sleep. even in sleep, I am running;
I am running to you.

(I read her words and I smile,
but only to myself)


{inspired by the letters of Anais Nin}