Maybe in the poems,

I could possibly make myself stay — when there isn’t a place to go anymore.

Maybe in the poems, I could show you how butterflies dance when they weren’t supposed to every time I see you.

Maybe in the poems, I could tell you more about how sad songs turn you into a lullaby baby — and all you have to do is to sing that part all over again, thinking that it was your line ages ago.

But darling, in the poems, I could always show you what my heart feels using metaphors even when love isn’t supposed to be written that way again — and trust me, it wouldn’t have maybes around it anymore.

– El