Behind Your Back

I’m writing a love poem behind your back, 

through stolen glances, 

soft smiles and quick greetings 

that I’m surely reading too much into. 

I’m writing a love poem behind your back 

in the early hours of the morning, 

the light from my phone  

serving as my romantic moonlight, 

Fingers across my keyboard 

Serving as my quill and ink. 

When I’m still awake thinking of you, 

I find myself wondering  

if you ever do the same for me. 

I’m writing a love poem behind your back, 

knowing full well it means nothing, 

that it never will, 

that it will always remain half finished, 

and that it will never be read 

by the one other person 

I want it to mean something to. 

I’m writing a love poem behind your back. 

I’m crafting a life for us, 

where we’re happy, of course, 

because what else could we be? 

I won’t know unless it actually happens 

and the rose colored glasses begin to chip, 

finally letting me see your flaws. 

Which makes me wonder  

if behind your back 

is the best place to be. 

And maybe that’s because my greatest fear  

Is that if you did read it, 

It wouldn’t mean anything anyway. 

But even with just what I’ve made up in my mind 

It feels so perfect, even if it’s only half there, 

And I wonder how perfect it would be  

If you would complete it. 

It’s my secret little language, 

But I want it to be ours

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