Spoiler
Based on my L poem from this:http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/topic76725.html
Lovely notes littered the floor like forgotten rose petals, wrinkled and
torn from their sheaths. Looking down, I knew that you hadn't meant for me to see them:
they had the markings of a secret and they felt coarse against my hands,
like something I might regret, something that I wanted to deeply inhale and nestle away in my lungs.
I let my eyes wander across your treasure, and the language made me smile,
archaic syllables tacked on the end of verses so unlike the
person who had written them. But, I could make myself imagine you reading them aloud,
hunched over your notepad with that familiar scowl on your face, sounding out each word
in hushed, fervent tones to the dark you liked to sit in.
Loops and elegance interrupted the occasional honest/earnest scrawl, on and off and on
again with words like "doth" and "thou"-- sometimes, you just couldn't seem to make your mind up.
There were erratic capitals, scripted and gilded and thrown out in the midst of
clumsy sounds and meters, and I smiled at your indulgence in eloquence,
the pitter patter of letters against letters, scraping out declarations of adoration and lost causes.
It wasn't until the page second to last that I saw your smudges, dusty with ink and
something like tears that I found your true thoughts, tucked in the spaces and line
breaks, in all the empty little parts that almost seemed forgotten.
It was the things missing that made the difference, the words you left
out and the lowercases--
Love was capitalized. Loss was too.
Lacy words, I thought. I wondered why you didn't capitalize hope.
It seemed so lonely.
Thanks for reading!
