Two weeks too late

She sat across from me at Saffrons
wearing my 10 year old jacket
drinking the last half of my beer
I thought to myself, I want nothing more
than to be that jacket, across her arms,
to be that beer, pressed against her lips
Jealousy towards inanimate objects
is a new emotion for me
But these things were touching her soft skin,
tasting her sweet mouth in open defiance
of my own desire
and yet I said nothing.

As we sat in her living room one night
reading through her diaries, talking and laughing
drinking wine and enjoying each other
I thought to myself I want nothing more
than to be her diary, object of affection
to be the paper on which her soul pours
She sat beside me and read intimate moments
of her lovers, past lives
And I stared at her beauty, both outside and in
and wondered what twist of fate put me there
to want her so badly
and yet I said nothing.

As I sat in my room after a night of beers
with her and her friends and my unspoken desire
plans astray, my life in turmoil
I thought to myself I want nothing more
than to call her up, tell her my feelings
to ease the burden of my silent lips
this I did, but to no avail.
two weeks too late to share my thoughts
she'd found someone else, I was a loss
My heart ached with each word as it poured into me
It hadn't occurred to her I wanted more
as I had only ever said nothing