The Letter
Each inky letter holding something vital,
Something you've kept hidden in your eyes for so long.
Is it a good bye or a hello?
With you I cannot be sure.
I open up the pages,
Careful not to let them rip in my fingers.
The pages are frail,
They remind me of you.
With the "dear" that begins the frame,
My eyes wander down the page,
A spiral within a spiral,
Within a spiral of it's own.
I can see where you pressed too hard,
Or your pen dripped ink.
Were you thinking of me?
The name at the top is not mine.
It is unfamiliar to me.
Do you not see how much I love you?
The three pages remain in tact,
But just barely.
I want to rip them in half.
I am jealous of these words that you've written for her,
These words that were constructed so beautifully.
I wish you'd write some for me.
Deep between the lines,
I can see those blank stares into space,
Those lost sentences,
Those fumbled words.
Were they meant for her or for me?
Were those vocalizations of your feelings,
Hiding what you really felt for someone else?
With you I cannot be sure.
When I give the pages back,
Tears fill my eyes secretly.
They are quiet,
They know what they must hide.
You question how much I like the letter,
And all I can do is nod.
When I am sure you aren't looking,
I wipe the salt from my cheeks.
"Why are you crying?"
The question seems strange in my ears,
Have you finally seen me?
"I'm not," I deny it.
"This letter should have meant more."
You say it like I've hurt you.
Like this isn't at all painful for me.
"It won't do anything for her."
I keep the words in my mind,
Bottled up and screaming.
Can't you just for once,
Say those beautiful words to me?
"I'm sure she will love it."
I say the words sadly,
And you take a pen from your pocket,
Careful to cross out her name.
In it's place, you write mine,
And I can't see even a trace of hers anymore.
Where did you find the magic ink?
"Did it mean enough to you?"
Your eyes meet mine,
And I smile.
My lips curl up miserably.
Has my day finally come?
You take my hands and in a whisper tell me you love me.
Was that "I love you" in the air spoken for me?
Were those words true and only for my heart?
With you I cannot be sure.
Something you've kept hidden in your eyes for so long.
Is it a good bye or a hello?
With you I cannot be sure.
I open up the pages,
Careful not to let them rip in my fingers.
The pages are frail,
They remind me of you.
With the "dear" that begins the frame,
My eyes wander down the page,
A spiral within a spiral,
Within a spiral of it's own.
I can see where you pressed too hard,
Or your pen dripped ink.
Were you thinking of me?
The name at the top is not mine.
It is unfamiliar to me.
Do you not see how much I love you?
The three pages remain in tact,
But just barely.
I want to rip them in half.
I am jealous of these words that you've written for her,
These words that were constructed so beautifully.
I wish you'd write some for me.
Deep between the lines,
I can see those blank stares into space,
Those lost sentences,
Those fumbled words.
Were they meant for her or for me?
Were those vocalizations of your feelings,
Hiding what you really felt for someone else?
With you I cannot be sure.
When I give the pages back,
Tears fill my eyes secretly.
They are quiet,
They know what they must hide.
You question how much I like the letter,
And all I can do is nod.
When I am sure you aren't looking,
I wipe the salt from my cheeks.
"Why are you crying?"
The question seems strange in my ears,
Have you finally seen me?
"I'm not," I deny it.
"This letter should have meant more."
You say it like I've hurt you.
Like this isn't at all painful for me.
"It won't do anything for her."
I keep the words in my mind,
Bottled up and screaming.
Can't you just for once,
Say those beautiful words to me?
"I'm sure she will love it."
I say the words sadly,
And you take a pen from your pocket,
Careful to cross out her name.
In it's place, you write mine,
And I can't see even a trace of hers anymore.
Where did you find the magic ink?
"Did it mean enough to you?"
Your eyes meet mine,
And I smile.
My lips curl up miserably.
Has my day finally come?
You take my hands and in a whisper tell me you love me.
Was that "I love you" in the air spoken for me?
Were those words true and only for my heart?
With you I cannot be sure.