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 |  Writings from 11/02 to 3/05. |
| 8-30-03 When I penned the book of love the cover was adorned with a picture of you. I poured over the manuscript for hours, living and breathing its every detail in the name of my sweet baby. I couldn't touch nor hold nor see but I could feel everything that miles of distance kept from me and I walked that path, maybe, must be, a million time in my head and on my days when no matter what the consequence or obstacle was as if you were always by my side. I trained myself within myself how to be when being in love and I did the best I could. You know sometimes I do stupid things and I don't always seem to know better, and I don't drive the car you want or have the guided aspirations that you were so fortunate to own, but you in the past you never judged and simply loved me just for me. That was my introduction, and it's only the beginning of you leaving me and my heart behind. We used to talk all night for hours on end about how everything would be. It was never "if" but "when" because we knew the day for us would somehow come. If we were living a dream, tell me why has someone waken you to take me away from me? These weren't in our plans. Now everything's so rearranged and I'm confused; where did something so wonderful so suddenly come from, and after everything we've meant together (in all the ways we could be) why did it have to fall apart so unexplicably? My chapters spoke roses and sunshine; pages turned like cotton candy and lemonade. Every word sprung from my brain to my lips to my pen from my heart like no love had come before. This was all so new to me. And now my love is fruitless and stale, passed on and gathering dust in the emptiness you leave me with. The past is to be remembered like any good history story you learn as a child, for the longer it gets handed down, the truer it becomes. I wrote the present so bold and powerfully that it was meant to stand the tests of time and carry on an unbreakable legacy that was to be the story of us and our love. You've begun the afterward that I never began to believe could ever happen to me. Your words and actions mean everything, and your silence in my heart is all I'll need to see how clear the ending is. Even if it's the most profound piece of literature to never gave my eyes. You've told me enough by saying nothing and I know this'll be the final book of love ever written by me. |
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