You said you would write me a letter;
In mid-fight it made me feel better;
But days have passed; and fights are stalled;
Yet promises of letters have been recalled.
You don’t know why these things matter;
Perhaps because I feel love isn’t mere chatter.
It holds itself to a purpose of truth;
These things are known by even the uncouth.
A love letter must come willing and free;
If it doesn’t, what use could the concept be?
I shall keep quiet and grow quieter still
And of acceptance and honour have my fill.
If I find no words written on pages sought,
I shall gauge at what cost my love was bought.