Years ago, I fell in love . . .
inked words falling on starched white sheets
and well-loved journals filled with penciled scrawl.
In you, I have always found comfort
a place to share secrets and inner dreams.
When no one is left to stand beside me
to listen . . . to hear . . . to dream . . .
I turn to you, my love.
I seek your forgiveness for my imperfect ways
but this is me I write down upon the page
no matter how different or strange it may seem
this is me.