Our Letter
"It all began that morning I sat in my kitchen.
I was writing a letter.
That letter to you. It took forever.
My hands was shivering. I was so excited. What if you liked it? I hoped so.
What if you didn’t?
It was months ago now I last heard something from you.
Where have you gone?
I drank my coffee while the pen was drawing those beautiful words to you.
It was poetic. Lovely. A letter full of love and feelings. And a confession.
A confession to you, about how much I’ve thought about you.
Haven’t you noticed that yet?
My hand wrote those words that translated my feelings.
The weeks passed.
I had sent my letter a long time ago.
I sat in my kitchen, drank the coffee, from the same cup. My favourite. It tasted nothing.
I waited. Where have you gone?
The months passed.
I sat outside my house. Waited.
Waited for your letter to come. Where is it?
Days passed.
Did you even get my letter?
The letter with all the poetic and beautiful confessions camed to you house.
But the letter remained unopened. You didn’t read it. Ever.
Your hands were too cold. They didn't have the life to open it.
You were lying there infront of everybody.
People griefed over you, cried and remembered you.
They sank you deep down in the ground.
You didn’t get the chance to read it..
It all ended that day while I sat at my knees next to your grave.
I took my farewell.
Tears felled from my face, down at the rose I held in my hand.
At last, I gave you the letter.
I kissed it, our love in words, one last time and gaved you the last chance to read it…
Our letter."
I was writing a letter.
That letter to you. It took forever.
My hands was shivering. I was so excited. What if you liked it? I hoped so.
What if you didn’t?
It was months ago now I last heard something from you.
Where have you gone?
I drank my coffee while the pen was drawing those beautiful words to you.
It was poetic. Lovely. A letter full of love and feelings. And a confession.
A confession to you, about how much I’ve thought about you.
Haven’t you noticed that yet?
My hand wrote those words that translated my feelings.
The weeks passed.
I had sent my letter a long time ago.
I sat in my kitchen, drank the coffee, from the same cup. My favourite. It tasted nothing.
I waited. Where have you gone?
The months passed.
I sat outside my house. Waited.
Waited for your letter to come. Where is it?
Days passed.
Did you even get my letter?
The letter with all the poetic and beautiful confessions camed to you house.
But the letter remained unopened. You didn’t read it. Ever.
Your hands were too cold. They didn't have the life to open it.
You were lying there infront of everybody.
People griefed over you, cried and remembered you.
They sank you deep down in the ground.
You didn’t get the chance to read it..
It all ended that day while I sat at my knees next to your grave.
I took my farewell.
Tears felled from my face, down at the rose I held in my hand.
At last, I gave you the letter.
I kissed it, our love in words, one last time and gaved you the last chance to read it…
Our letter."
Nutley -06
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