Cabin Fever

NML (forever)

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.