Love Letter Syndrome

Love letters are hard to let go. Especially when it wasn't for you but you wish it was.

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If only your letter for him can tell you

how many times I've read it, 

you'd be surprised by how often

I've hurt myself by doing so.

I do it becasue I want to close my eyes

and hear your voice in those lines.

I do it because I imagine that those

I love yous are really for me.

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*Picture from thefirst47

Nth Time

When was the last time you let go of someone?

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I decided to let

You go - again.

And you know it

Is not an easy thing

To do especially when

I gave it up for you.

But I want you

To know that

I have no regrets.

I loved you and

You loved me too.

I felt it there sometime

When we were just new.

I tried letting you go

A lot of times before

But every time I wake up

It's you who I think about.

Please let me let you go.

I'll continue loving 

You though.

It would be hard not to.

But please if ever you

Think you will still love me

Love me the way that 

I will love you.

I will love you every time

I do the things

We did.

Letting you go will not 

Stop me from loving you.

Please let me let you go.

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*Picture from mamajacque.blog.

Letting Myself Go

Cheers to those who finally had the guts to let go.

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Sometimes you just don't believe

In things coming to an end;

Of cards under my sleeve,

That hearts will eventually mend.

Your bubbles are hard

To burst, they're made of steel

And in blues,

I can't feel

The love anymore

Whenever you said "Hello"

And made that kiss

Not realizing I wasn't slow

In figuring things out

And reading between your lines,

I got it clear and right

That all of them are signs

For a future that doesn't

Include both of us

In anything more than

Lovers making out last.

Goodbyes are often 

Never seen coming

The sad thing is 

You just don't know its meaning.

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 *Picture from 1.bp.blogspot

I Tore It Into Pieces (Sequel to I Stole A Letter)

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My heart knows the letter's

Every period, coma and semi colon.

It's the written version of what people

Call the Last Song Syndrome.

It served as my lullaby during

Sleepless nights.

When the Sun goes up

Over the horizon it waits

For me to open my eyes.

But as much as I want to 

Stay with it, 

The longer I suffer

From emotional suicide.

So one night during my Taxi ride home,

I closed my almost tearful eyes and

Made my hands the body part version

Of a paper shredder.

Pieces of my useless addiction

Were left under the Taxi seat.

The timid driver unaware of

My duel with a love lost which

 Unfortunately will never be found.

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*Pictures from http://blogs.seattleweekly.com/dailyweekly/taxi.jpg and http://forums.unfiction.com/forums/viewtopic.php?mode=attach&id=7276&thumb=1