musty scent of love

those old notes- yellowed,
in tatters, words smudging
I tape them carefully
to preserve them for you both

it is not quite dawn yet-
what am I doing in the wee hours
going through old letters
taking in the musty scent of your love

you know she sleeps in the next room
I don’t wish to wake her up
like the way you were
ever so careful not to disturb her

what I see through my hazy vision
your words lovingly penned for her-
her words reciprocating,
my heart aches for her loss

I am no connoisseur on recipe of love
(but I know) she is still spellbound by you,
you can see that from up there,
but she cannot and that hurts her

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I get glimpses of my mom missing my dad, it hurts me too. She is careful not to show it to me but as her daughter, I understand how much she misses him. I miss him too but it is different for her. As it should be. As it ought to be. I always have wished for a love as strong as theirs. I write it for both of them, even though I know she will not like it that I can read her so well.

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