She drew pictures in the air,
her eyes conveying the depth,
her body language, the tone.
There wasn’t one voice in the world who could drown out hers.
Her shyness had matured to introvertedness,
& she saw her ability to listen rather than speak
become more appreciated by those who loved to hear themselves.
As a primary speaker of ASL,
she was deaf to his intelligence;
as a primary reader of Braille,
he was blind to her beauty.
She was deaf to his intelligence,
not to his music;
he was blind to her beauty,
not to her art.
It was the text that ended it all,
for had it been face-to-face,
what would have been typed
might have never been said at all.
She told him how she felt
in a 1000 poetic ways–
through the third-person
who was the funhouse mirror