An Incomplete Book

I sit in silence

basking in a revelation 

which does not belong to me.

Yearning for the love

which is unbeknownst to you,

but looms on me,

like a dark cloud on a stormy day.

An aura of beauty not for the blind eye,

but a piercing blade through my heart.

How little this book is written

in languages that will not mix,

but a fervent desire to learn you and write you,

even if for only one chapter.

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