Love Letter.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A love letter to a lost love.

Submitted: November 03, 2011

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Submitted: November 03, 2011

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V,

Cry. Why can’t I cry? Do tear ducts bring some sorry relief from the lump of sickening sorrow that’s lodged in my trachea? Does the sky ever end? When eyes turn skyward, how is it possible that that amount of sheer darkness can engulf your vision so completely?  Not even writing can bring me relief. And that is what brings me to this point of being lost, teetering on the brink, unable to fall either way. Blonde hair is what I’ll miss. Blonde hair being mine and nobody else’s, the blondest hair on any continent, on any planet, in any galaxy. Mine, the run through my hands like sand. Eyes are what I’ll miss, that have innocence so deep and pure that portray such a vivid green and blue, like an unexplainable portal to the soul. Crying seems to be easier, now tears flow as easy as the words flow from my hands. Distractions from the outer realms of my consciousness feel like echoes outside my small ball of sadness what’s left of my soul has curled itself up in.

Holding hands is what I’ll miss, not even talking, just holding and knowing that if I squeeze, you’ll squeeze back. See, now it’s easier to cry, much easier. When this started I didn’t even know what it was going to be, a poem maybe, a song? Now it’s genre less, just me and my God damn pathetic emotions and a blanks canvas to paint them on. Shall I give this to you or will that just make things harder? You always liked to read my writing, maybe you’d like to read this. You’d probably never look at me again if you did. But I can’t sleep, what else can I do? Sometimes I think if I could play the piano, or guitar I could sing you a song so beautiful it would bring you back. But I can’t. All that can come from these fingers is pain and despair. Maybe deep down I like being depressed, maybe that’s why it’s all I write about. I know you don’t think it’s true but you are an angel. You were my angel and now you can be somebody more deserving’s angel. These tears are coming now. You know I probably won’t give this to you. You’re in my dreams every night. I wish you’d leave them sometimes but you don’t.

I can’t tell you how glad I am you ended it with me. I couldn’t have done it but you are so much better without me, I know you don’t believe me but you are. Why the am I even bothering with this? Shall I save it or no? Who cares? What does life or death or anything really matter in the end. You were mine. I lost you a long time ago. You’ll get over me. The greatest gift you can give me now is to go and become all you can be and be the shining light this world so desperately needs and if I have the knowledge that I maybe, somewhere in the depths of memory, made your life a tiny bit better for a split second then I can live the rest of my life in happiness.

 

Yours always, 

J

x


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