four lines (for you)

hey there.

how are you?

we haven't spoken

in so long.

hey there.

anything new with you?

it's weird, isn't it --

writing to you when you're already gone.

hey there.

i miss you.

sorry, i know i shouldn't say that.

(but i'm always thinking of you.)

hey there.

i'm sure this is getting old for you.

but i just can't stop;

i just can't forget.

hey there.

there's something i'm too scared to say to you.

so i keep my poems short: only four lines

that way i don't have to say the truth.

hey there,

i can't erase the past.

wish i could, but

it's all we're left with now.

the past, and the memories, and

the feeling of your warmth, somewhere in my chest, and --

i know we can never go back.

we can never be together again.

but slowly, slowly, i'm able to say that i've accepted it.

maybe i haven't really, but

i'm a writer, so

i'll bleed our story onto these pages.

and with each and every word

with every set of four lines

it hurts a little less.

and now,

this will be the last one.

so i'll say it

the way that i know best.

hey there,

i loved you.

i love you.

goodbye.