What do I say

I nibbled on the memory of you,
but the morsel grew stale.

Passion is the casualty of patience I suppose.

I proceeded with caution, but here I am again.

You, like the others,
put words into my head,
and thoughts into my voice.

Scaring yourself, perhaps out of fear.

I tried to un-squeak the rustiness of your heart,
but it only tightened the hinges on mine.