I keep going to type a text,
and then delete it,
or toss my phone aside
to dwell on what to say.
I'm sure you see the iPhone dots
that signal the other person (me) is writing a text,
but there is so much to say,
so much to do, that even a perfect message won't suffice.
I try to call but the book created a barrier,
when it was supposed to be a bridge,
in which I see flaws similar to my own,
and you read through the lines of real desire.
I am not evil, but I am choices,
yet I believe people can change,
and redemption is possible within love,
because life is both long and short, depending.
I am not my flaws, but my flaws are me,
and just as I listen to sad songs to remind,
I read certain books to remember and refresh
the certainty that hearts evolve if given the chance.