Wasted Trees and Words Unspoken

a letter to a lost love

a letter to a lost love
starts with the shaking wrist of a poet
as their hand drifts across the page
of another paper left to be burned
because the poet would rather lose
the love and passion and emotion
to the embers of flames
than to the emptiness of their lost.

this letter to a lost love
shan't be lost to a flame
unless it is the one we once shared
in which, i would rather see it tinted
with the darkness of the hard times
and the browns of our skin
because it would reflect the very nature
of this never-meant-to-be-sent note...
and us.

beautiful, but damaged.

so...dear, dearest, lost love,
i will never give you the satisfaction
of knowing that you spent as much time
in my head, as i did in yours.
instead, your hands guided my fingertips
to write tens of hundreds of thousands
of poems, songs, and letters.
and yet, you have only seen one.

instead, you gazed into my eyes
in dreams and places never forgotten
and never spoke, and left me wondering
how i could still see your thoughts in them.
instead, as i laid down,
you did alongside me too and you sighed, let me feel the rise and fall of your back,
and blessed me with your familiar warmth.

instead, i was sent back in time
to when i spent days and nights,
seconds leading into minutes, then hours,
by your side, by the phone, by myself.
instead, i was sent back to the days
of admiring you, cheering you on,
supporting you even through your losses
and aching from the way that was lost too.

lost love,
i will spend every night scrolling through the writing folder of these silly little notes
debating whether or not to show you this.
but as the poet said in the first stanza,
a letter to a lost love
starts with a shaking hand
and ends with a soft sizzle.