Metaphors.

I never wrote about love.
Instead, I wrote about a dahlia
whose silent swaying
in the cold winter breeze
was the cue to my waltz.
I wrote about a conversation
with whispered words drizzling
like soft raindrops on a hot day, comforting me
with their hushed pitter patter.
I wrote about a stream
that flows on
at a calm, steady pace,
carrying me along with it,
engulfed in its safe embrace.
I wrote about a bird
whose song still rings in my ears,
etched into my heart,
no matter how many miles
we may be apart.

I never wrote about love,
I wrote about loveliness instead.
I never wrote to you or about you, but
I wrote you into everything I said.

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