How would you call this?

And love?

Is it not in every written word

as much as in every word that's read?

Are you so young that you have no voice

so old that you voice the silence?

Like those who look and look and look

But never share what they see

convinced that no one is looking?

You sure that's better

than fighting?

or separating with words?

and letting yourself be seen?

Are you a haven for landing?

Or where you never even close

and don't know how to approach?

I would perhaps still write even without you

but not the same things.

Your presence changes everything

are you aware of that?

How would you call this?