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We are-
March 18, 2015
I am not romantic, prolific, or profound.
He is.
I am not a crusader for the plight of the property of intellectuals.
He is kind.
I wouldn’t dare approach the likes of Hemingway, Yates, or C++.
He is generous.
I flounder to find words that are subtly meaningful.
He looks at me when I have nothing important to say.
I think I have potential.
I am like a sopping dishtowel waiting for his gentle hands so I can be wrung dry.
I am quiet.
I am waiting, quietly.
He is there. He is perfect.
I am brimming. Waiting
© Sean C., Princeton, IL
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