Prompt: I am writing this for you

I am writing this for you under no duress, no obligation.

I am writing this for you on a day that began under cover of cloud, spring-like, silent, punctuated only by the coo of doves.

I am writing this for you as only I can do, on a day like today which is like no other.

I am writing this for you because words are so much more real on the page, than to say them out loud only to have them linger briefly in the air, suffuse, diffuse, transparent, like perfume, slowly dissipating, disappearing. Vanished.

I am writing this for you, with longing incomprehensible.

I am writing this for you, fingers gripping ever so tightly your pen. You left it here and I could not help myself. I tried to hold it the way I've seen you hold it: lightly, nonchalantly, callously, tossing off a grocery list, a note, a silly sketch.

I am writing this for you in supplication, as an offering, to give you an indication, a sign, a memento.

I am writing this for you in the hope that you may read it, some day, if you find it, hidden, sequestered, squirreled away in plain sight amongst the scraps of our lives.

I am writing this for you because I love you.