I want to write but I can’t

I want to write but I can’t.
I want to write about the dazzling sun and the softest rain, but I can’t.
About a pleased smile, the tilt of the head and the wink of an eye.
The whispering of the leaves, of your hand in mine.
Of the softness of the sand, or the warmth in your eyes, I can’t.
Of hues and colours, of dark and light, I can’t.
Of autumn leaves in a gale, the breathlessness of a dance with you; I can’t.
Of love and romance, of all things poetic; I can’t.
About your soothing presence, the storm of music; I can’t.
About the tiniest sliver of hope; that whiff of promise, I can’t.
Of the sweetness of sleep, or of me against your shoulder, I can’t.
Of hopeless hope, of all things imaginary and unknown, I can’t.
Of words and metaphors, you and I, I can’t.