PART THREE OF THREE.
i don't consider this a poem just a message of appreciation, listen to the song after reading.
your voice would fill my ears
before my focus met you across the table.
absorbing every feature in detail,
brown skinned girl, cushioned cheeks, dark hair...
the last feature always seemingly the beauty spot that rests on your face.
you have a wit about you,
sarcastic comments, intellectual thoughts.
mostly random facts but i'd listen.
i enjoyed hearing your childhood stories and trips to festivals.
but whenever you'd recall certain memories behind your smile that wasn't all.
that wasn't all.
i'd slowly watch the corners of your mouth descend to their original place
with a sense of pain dragging them down.
i could capture more emotion in your falling smile than the stories themselves.
although you never said it yourself, your smile did.
that something was missing, whenever you told a story.
something was missing.
i remember the moment i finally saw it
i felt stupid and guilty that i hadn't noticed sooner.
there was a reason you wouldn't speak about her much,
why within stories there was hardly ever a past nor present tense when you referred to her.
and even though at times it must've hurt and cut you inside,
you'd try your best to smile.
but i was never worried nor am i now,
that you aren't strong enough.
because i could see your strength every time you picked up pen and paper.
you are able to translate the foreign characters given to us into passion and truth.
i may never be as poetic as you,
but you've shared your gift with me.
and now through every pen stroke we can walk the same path.
although it's not enough, to show my gratitude.
i write these words for you.
happy birthday.
