Just beside
You will never know how much,
She said this to me.
I confess how often I would agree.
Would think words mean tableware
to address this intending feast.
Yet I write anyway.
And I learned a lesson this way.
She will never know how much,
I thought to myself.
I have so much more than just my words,
what was always there just beside, just
as she sleeps beside me here.
It was never the words.
It was what they were beside.
index