The Word I have Not Yet Spoke

The Word I Have Not Yet Spoke

He slowly entered her room. He would often sneak in after visiting hours and believed that no one knew that he was doing this. He slowly moved forward and kissed her gently on her lips. He brushed her hair with his hand and then slowly caressed her hand. He pulled up a chair and sat next to her bed. He wasn't able to get her out of his head, seeing her lying there as if she was carved out of stone. She lay utterly still, her eyes were so beautiful and yet they were open and glassy. He longed so desperately to hear her voice. If she would just say something, even if it were bossy, he still wanted to hear her voice.

He brought a book with him. He slowly opened it and began to read to her. He wasn't sure if she could hear the words, but he read to her anyway. She loves books and so now it was up to him to read to her since she could not read herself. He normally didn't read much, but this was a special situation and she was a special girl. He never really told her how he felt about her, but now that she might not be able to hear him, he wished that he had said something earlier when she could.

He read.

The best sea: has yet to be crossed.

The best child: has yet to be born.

The best days: have yet to be lived;

And the best word that I wanted to say to you

Is the word that I have not yet said.

A tear had formed in his eye, but he held his own and did not fully cry. If he did and it would become known, then he would be thought of as a girl. Even though God gave guys tear ducts, guys are usually not afforded the display of tears. However, there was no one around, so he let a few trickle down his face. He needed her, she was a well of water in the dry land of his heart. She was a spring, a fountain that watered his heart and made it come alive, so why shouldn't he try and give it back to her, even though she seemed so dry and brittle. He sighed. He thought of the many times he wanted to kiss her, he thought of their mouths and tongues (when he thought of this he shivered) soft and powerful and as moist as ever. He looked at her again and wondered if she could feel his lips when he kissed her hello and goodbye. It wasn't really fair, he felt it all and for her there appeared to be nothing. Would she ever feel anything again, or would she lay here forever like a sleeping beauty.

He began to doze off and soon was asleep. He dreamt of her. It was delightful. She was full of life. She was his guiding star, a bit bossy, but alive all the same. He felt that part of her brilliance was to disguise her dependence on her friends. He often thought that she needed him as much as he needed her. He knew that although she presented a strong, independent image, she was fragile and was often frightened. She said she could take care of herself, but he truly felt that she wanted him to protect her, to be tender to her and to just bloody well love her. She once said to him that it was her belief that Voldemort could not understand love and its power. He looked at her and said in his heart, that he hoped she would some day understand how much he loved her. When he didn't reply to her statement, she just shook her head and believed he was miles away in another world.

Soon his mild snoring woke him up. He opened his eyes. She was still there. He had hoped that just maybe this was all a bad dream. He felt some fear as he gazed upon her; she looked as if she had passed through the veil. Although, he was assured by many that she was living, it still troubled his soul to see her this way. He knew that his choices are what mattered and he chose to believe she would be well again and that then just maybe he would tell her how he felt about her. He stood up, held her hand once more and then gently kissed her and left her behind.

Dedicated to Emma Watson.

The poem was written by Nasim Hikmet