Soon after...

I want to post something. To comment on the beauty of her words.
But nothing comes to mind. Or rather, everything does.
I want to tell her I love her. I want to tell her how beautiful she is.
How charming how lovely how perfect. How I can hear her cadence as I read.
That I feel her breath on my neck as she speaks the words she wrote.
I want to tell her so many things, for which no words are adequate.
So I don't. I read every scrap of foolscap that she drops.
I swallow paragraphs whole like a starving man with a bits of bread.
I savor every instant, but she never knows my response.
Because the words to describe it, they simply don't exist.
So I stay silent and, when the muse strikes me, I wax dramatic.
But a hopeful thought fills me, as to her equal lack of response.
Perhaps she is stricken by the same inability,
To properly react verbally. Perhaps it is lack of time.
Or perhaps she shares my illness.
Either way the response is unnecessary
because we both know, who the words are for.