I really misinterpreted Hello Again, Stranger when I wrote my comments yesterday. Actually it was early Sunday morning and my brain wasn't fully functioning. But tonight both that poem and WALKING ALONG... make perfect
sense; they're two chapters from an on-going narrative. I don't know why I made the assumption that the couple in the first poem were uncommitted, hesitant, not ready to surrender to each other. Now I see from the opening they are connected: We traveled together... braved the unknown. And their rapport is mysteriously confirmed a few lines later: We went/because we were called/you and I. Is that an inner calling, because I don't see an outside agent. I really like the passage about the note he puts under her pillow, because it is a gesture of love. Your character doesn't have to say I love you, which would be a cliché, because he just proved his love with a gesture. (I'm going to stop and send this, because the problem might be the length of my comments.)
The pencil just sat there. Not being chewed, or sharpened. Not on the verge of a great novel. Unused. Unnecessary. And then the pencil thought of a great story. But there was no hand to guide it. There was no hope, for a #2 pencil.