Poetry?

It's not the fear of drowning
within the ocean of feelings,
I had for you
or
the waves of infatuation
on which I used to surf with
the girl of my dream.

It's not
the tranquility in that first kiss
quenching thirst of our liberated souls
or
silence of those late-night conversations
between me and the moon.

It's not
a prophecy of love,
we had written on the pages of forever
or
the nostalgia of your letters,
which locked me up in depression.

It's not
an art of portraying emotions,
I started in your remembrance
or
the revelations of your promises
written on my skin
in the ink of bruises.

It is
the thread of those texts
I never sent you.