i scrawled confessions of my love all over an empty, crumpled box of cornflakes, with a black sharpie marker. over the course of the next few weeks, it migrated slowly around to behind the computer monitor, forgotten garbage. you came over one day, and in your search for a particular cd, found the box and read the confession, while i prepared tea and a tray of biscuits. my heart filled my throat as i walked in the room and caught you reading it. the tea pot chattering on a tray, cookie crumbs falling from the corners of my mouth. you looked at me like you already knew and wanted to set a date. i stuffed the cornflakes box in the trash can, and then i hid behind the fine bone china tea cup, smiling in release. words aren't real until someone else reads them.