i ~~ 4 u.
I write for you.I never knew it until now, at 2:54 a.m.
I always thought my writing style, as genuine as I liked to call it, was MY creativity shining, like that I see in each of my siblings. I felt it was a quality that I simply "lacked."
But in writing my last..."story," in trying to discover and create the perfect marriage of words, of spacing and physical appearance more so than punctuation and grammar, instantaneously, as if the image had just passed my eyes, I remembered the exact visual structure of the poem that You wrote about Me.
Your distinct font- size and shape- and clever indentations, skillful synonyms, analogous patterns and surprisingly meaningful artwork that accompanied and complemented your words amazed me beyond comprehension.
I never saw You as complicated; intricately designed; with layers. I never looked beyond the superficial, despite the strength of our bond, until being presented with Your words. I took you for face-value - figured all I saw was all I'd get.
And now, the small and meaningless glory that I've come to find, WrongfullY, for myself, you strip away.
Without so much as a warning...without a care...without a thought even
So as to quietly slip away, again, from my love.