A stack of sketch paper in a worn cloth booklet

You look so good
You and me and you
Let’s make a dream together

There we are
Holding hands
Laughing

We’re at home cooking
We’re in Paris exploring
We’re doing and being

You’re the wind in my sails
Half of me I didn’t know was missing
You’re the cliché I’ve been looking for

This whole time
You looked so good
On paper.

What do you think of this poem? Leave your thoughts in the comments below. I’d love to read them!

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Photo of a woman’s eyes and face, dripping in paint, by Stephen Angelsmith

Look at me.
Intrigue
Interest
Curiosity
Questions
Skepticism
Reassurance
Patience
Trust
Admiration
Engagement
Excitement
Lust
Passion
Love
Love
Complacency
Forgetfulness
Indifference
Annoyance
Disdain
Pain
Longing
Remorse
Forgiveness
Peace
Time to look away.

If this moment, right now, in your romantic relationship could be distilled into one word, what word would it be? Would it be one of these above? Let me know in the comments.

This poem (if you could call it that!), like most of my work, was written years ago.

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An unfinished painting of my own making, of a hand oustretched in darkness, reaching for light.

Repeated apologies
have become a broken record
You know them all by heart

Don’t go, I love you.

There’s a distance between us
Not a division
So I still have hope.
We can cover those miles
But I’ll walk them myself
if you need me to

If “I love you” could fix it all,
I’d sing it and dress it up
with flowers and memories
But right now it’s only a whisper,
Meek and faint,
Screaming in a dream

Don’t go, I love you.

Your heart knows mine
Mine knows yours
They speak a language
We don’t understand.

Hearts are strong
Yours is strong
Mine is open
So don’t go

Don’t go.

I love you.

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Orange autumn leaves against a backdrop of pristine blue water.

They’ve written about you before.
Not everyone.
Those who really knew you.
You’re something elusive
Everyone dreams about.

You were Helen’s beauty,
Cleopatra’s charm,
Romeo’s loyalty,
Dante’s inspiration.

You are the Taj Mahal,
Petit Trianon,
“Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss.”

The ages have complicated you
But you endure.

Because of you, I feel invincible.
Like the world has given itself to me.

I could spend a lifetime
Trying to write about you myself,
But words will never be enough.

You, yourself, are not enough either
And yet you are more powerful,
More true than anything I’ve known.
You are beginning and end.

They’ve written about you before.
Not everyone.
Those who really knew you.
And now I join the ranks,
Thirsting for more righteous words.

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Maggie Dewane

Maggie Dewane

Writing nonfiction to share stories on climate change and conservation. Writing fiction just because it feels good. www.maggiedewane.com