You, yours, me, mine.

With the scratch of pen on paper, blobs of ink spattering from a pointed nib, comes the inspiration of a creation and a page filled with spider-scrawlings of notes.
So you are, and she is, and the way I see it, and my thoughts were, and emotions are expressed when, and feelings matter if, and how..? Pages of pointless words that mean nothing alone, but when connected to her... or added to this... or placed in conjunction with why...
A memory results in a place. An image results in a colour. A feeling results in a food. And slowly but surely I am attempting to place on the wrinkled, crinkled page an accurate, concise image. In rhyming couplets. (How to make thing difficult.)

Maybe we won't last forever, but for now and today you are my whole and my life and the pieces that make you who you are make me who I am and however many they are, in the many, convoluted patterns they fit in, I have to choose the most important ones, the most effective ones, and the ones that will create the best picture and convey most effectively my thoughts and feelings... These are therefore the most difficult ones to put down on paper.

So the pen scratches and scrapes and skips across the paper. The spaces are filled with notes and words and abbreviations and then, slowly, slowly, are recreated and reformed into a complete creation. Give me time, for this will take time. Give me space, for space I will need. Give me your love because my love of yours is what I'm trying to convey and what I'm attempting to immortalise...

It's a shame I find this so damn hard.