The Way The Pages Flipped

I could tear down a page and write you a love letter,

Or never.

For I'd keep the pages clean yet scribble tales of love forever.

But for all the passion this pen and paper could share,

The greatest love story is still

in the way you pick up the phone and ask me how I feel.

In the way a mother strokes a child's hair.

For pages could tear.

For inks run dry.