kept

“there’s a paper in my drawer not blank, not written just heavy with the weight of me— my love, my fear, my almost confessions my thoughts of you, scribbled in silence when the clock hands meet and the world forgets to breathe the tick of the clock, the flood of memories, and under a dim light i begin to write— line after line, the pages start to fill, and so does my chest with every memory we had. the drawer closes softly, the paper pressed tight, as if it could hold everything i cannot say. memories rush and silence grows between us unsent like hands that reach but never touch like love i keep to myself”