A Letter

Letters
Pressing pen to paper, ink pooling when pausing
A wall of white, awaiting words.
Something stirs in my fingertips as I remember you.
I doubt you remember me, but I want you to.
I want you to remember me as I remember you.
Warm like strands of sunlight streaming across the script on the sheet
Bright like that endless blue sky, sweet like the smell of fresh cut summer grass
All the things I wanted to say to you, but never could put past my lips.
All the things in my heart and mind that lay caged within.
But I don’t have a key, just a pen.
Some say a letter is easier than speaking.
The truth is that it’s much harder.
To bare all of my feelings on the paper,
Every last thing I want her to know, as much for my sake as hers.
And then the wait begins.
Each day I check the mailbox. Each time it lies empty the worry grows larger and larger.
Whenever I think of you not replying, I feel that same weight on my shoulders.
That same weight of my hand on the pen
That same weight of the pen to the paper
Those dark pools of ink that swallowed all the words that I tried to get out
The sopping wet sheet is thrown headlong into the trash and I start over
A sentence with a small mistake, a word out of place and I cast it away
A full letter, and then I’ll trash it.
Each day that passes it grows harder to write.
But I cannot surrender so easily.
I put the pen to the paper and pray for something that matches my purpose.
I stop thinking and just write.
I write and write and write.
And when it’s done I write my farewell.
No, a simple word, Love.
Pages and pages, summed up in one word.
All those tiny insignificant details,
The words that make the last one ring true.
A crescendo of emotion that reaches its’ fanfare and goes silent.
Your answer, even if it never comes is worth the wait.
At the very least, I’ve proven that what I feel was real to me.
Even if it isn’t real to you.