I wish I were a poet, so I could show you how I feel.

Your kisses were patchwork on my skin, but my honesty was something to worry about. As if our collision of truth and indifference would serve the purpose of filling the empty spaces, originating in our lack of mental chemistry. We spoke different languages, to be understood only by the very channel of our bodies. At first I thought I needn't mind, I shouldn't be caught adrift by  poor communication and its drawbacks, but it occured to me that such a restless spirit could not exist outside the laws of Speech. Its spell was deeply enthrenched into the depths of my own being, crawling and scratching my inner walls whenever I would refuse to equate touch and philosophy. But all of a sudden, your mouth errupted in lexical harmonies, as if my mind was laid open in front of that newly-born world. And when the distances  between us finally shrunk, the absence of a word able to hold all the meanings in my heart became unbearable.  
Then I fell in love with the sound.

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