In Three’s.

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I wrote you a poem because there were things I never got to say. Not entirely sure what they were, but they were there once. or twice. I know they were there because I remember the way they looked in my mind and on my lips driving down the 405.
I watched the water instead of you because I was never one for these types of conversations. I stumbled over my words, something I never do. I guess that’s a testament to my nature towards you.
I wrote the poem on a Tuesday at work on a napkin and carried it in my pocket until letters faded and the napkin turned to a soft cloth. It was one of the only things I have never copied down, as if the words deserved to be lost. Another testament to us.
They say things happen in threes. 

Even This.