I littered her life with the detritus of love.
My adoration pressed by pens into folded tissues, scraps of wrapping paper, backs of envelopes.
She would open drawers and untie shoelaces and lift pillowcases to find me
in a rush of words.
Eager to remind her in my absence that she was loved.
She pressed each one into the pages of a book,
prayers between paper of a long future together willed by design.
She compiled them into a chaotic chronology of us.
Ordering them and piecing the tessellating scraps and scars into a vague impression of my immense love for her.
Bit by bit she pulled ribbons and ticket stubs,
long looks and breath jolts,
shared films and old poems,
and sewed them together.
That was all I could give her.
The Frankenstein tools to construct the telling of my love for her;
too big for words.