One hundred— seriously?

A hundred times
   I've written,
      rewritten,
   carefully crafted words

   just to say "I miss you"

   in a hundred different ways.

I've filled pages,
     stacked metaphors,
     worn out keyboards,

     all to explain things that really only take three words—

     or fewer.

We've had storms,
           songs,
        dentists,
            dogs,
 planes hijacked,
 Lyfts sabotaged,

 and kisses numbered then forgotten.

I've called them poems,
                 notes,
               letters,
             ramblings—

     but let's be honest:

     they’re mostly just public admissions of my quiet insanity.

She reads,
    sometimes laughs,
    sometimes rolls her eyes, (perhaps both at once)

    and somehow—
    miraculously—

    keeps coming back for more.

Either she genuinely enjoys this,
    or she’s quietly building a case—
    and a strong one at that—

    one hundred counts of poetic nonsense to submit as evidence.

A hundred ramblings,
  and yet here I am,
       still typing,
      still smiling,

  still running out of new ways to say something…

  I'll never tire of saying again.