I set the glass back down,
My third, and refill it from
The bottle, memories
Filling my head, like
Little movies of you and me.

All the smiles that left,
Nothing but... I don't know...

I can't describe it, without
Being cliché. I can't convey
What I mean, without
Using words already common.

So, why even try? Why do
I even write this for you,
When I know you'll never
Get the chance to read it?

A fifth glass refills itself,
Though I know I can't drink.

Still, the silent films play,
The happy memories dance,
And I sit here, my pen in hand,
Writing silent, and sweet,
Nothings you'll never hear.