Things I Never Told You

I never knew what to say. I could never find the right words to describe what I felt.

Now that you're gone, I've had time to expand my vocabulary.

Synesthesia. A condition where an unexpected sensory input occurs.

I never told you that your voice was like a rainbow after a summer rain.
I never told you that the sun in your eyes held the whisper of the ocean depths.
I never told you that the taste of your lips reminded me of the sound of my heartbeat.
I never told you that your body was like a warm bed on a winter's night.

I never told you, that Even when you're gone, my arms remember the smoothness of your back, and my lips the taste of yours.
I never told you, that I wanted to sleep next to you until the sun peeked in through the curtains.
I never told you, that My bedsheets keep the smell of your body like the Earth keeps the smell of a spring day.
I never told you, that When I had nightmares, I would imagine your hand on mine until I fell asleep.
I never told you, that In the right light, the sun would leave rainbows in your eyes.
I never told you, that Your body on mine is like where the sky meets the ocean, and you can't tell where the horizon lies.
I never told you, that Every time you left me, I was scared you would never come back.