i like the way they curl and spike and
drift like underwater angels.
i drew one, once,
back before drawing was something casual and
easy.
in that magic time when wishes come true
and if at first you don't succeed,
you try again.
i went to the library, i looked
at books, i learned the shape and i
practised.
i drew that same seahorse over and over and over,
until it was nearly perfect.
i drew it, only once, as it was in my mind,
every line, every colour was perfect.
and it was on squared paper.
and it was pinned on a maths room wall.
and it never came home.
i never told you i loved seahorses, never
explained why i can't draw them anymore.
but there are lots of things i never knew about you.
i never knew
how you looked when you were lying,
i never even knew your handwriting.
i don't know what i'm trying to say here,
but suddenly i can see those lines again
and it seems so important
that I know what your writing looks like.
i think you're the only one
I'd ever try to draw
a seahorse for.
you're the only person i'd ever dare
push myself for. you're the only one
who never took me at face value.
you're the person who cut my safety line,
when i wanted it most.
now,
that line is curving in my head,
making fins and gills, and
i can almost feel it.
i'll send you a seahorse, love,
if you send me a letter.
