An Untitled Letter


Dear whoever you may be,


With every bone in my body I want you

I long for the day when I no longer have to search above and below

I've been fed lies about you,

I've seen photoshopped versions of you that, frankly, I don’t ever want to see again.

But despite all this I know you’re beautiful, I know you’re true, I know you’re…


But, here’s where it gets tough to continue with this mindset.

Every time my heart is gripped,

My conscious races in on the scene and everything that was,


Without fail, it always concludes by explaining this as just another unfortunate mishap

Somewhere along the lines of ‘too soon’ and ‘slow down’

But with each ‘maybe next time’ sentiment I sense myself giving up.

Patience is a virtue, but it seems that all I've been is patient.

I don’t know who you are but I’m dying to find you

You have come in mirages in the past

And I have hung onto those...


That just maybe, I had made it.

But the goodbye always sounds the same

Return to square one.

So, now what? I hear the knocking

And it’s at the front door of my heart

Should I let it in?

Because I know if I don’t, well…

I’ll just watch the chance slip through my fingers

Might as well cue the reset now, a start-over is looming

Of course, this all would be much easier if you could just fall out the sky

I see it on the silver screen.

But I’m told this rarely happens in the realness in which we live

So I try and initiate first

In the hope that,

Wait…scratch that.

In the shear minuscule, one billionth of a chance that MAYBE

I've finally struck gold

That MAYBE this will be the time that I can look back on and say

‘I knew all along’ and boast in the fact

That the simple little phrase actually ended up working for once

Up to this point it’s just been wishful thinking

Which only leads to more crumpled paper in my overflowing trash can

So, is this the time?

I’m tired of thinking

‘this is it’

‘The one’

These phrases are old now, walking around with suitcases about to burst with extra baggage

Apparently, love is only real until it’s over.

Listen, Love! QUIT sending your doubles to my door.

I’ll foolishly answer each time.

I want to talk to the real you.







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