Spilling from my fingers
are words I could never give to you,
words I was afraid to sing.

My keyboard is pressed
with hesitation;
I am not sure you will understand
the lyrics. 

Dear, you…

It’s funny.

I was angry at you for what seemed forever. It wasn’t that you gave up…it was the deceit. And it didn’t anger me—it hurt me deep.

But I will always, know this, ALWAYS love you. It may not always be the love you want or expect, but it will always be love, especially when you need it.

I had forgiven you long before you knew it, though, you hadn’t wanted to hear it apparently. Then I was angry because I was avoided. Then I forgave you again.

I have no ought against you. I had only called to tell you I forgave you, even if the conversation was bereft of an apology from your wonderful lips. Factually, I was ready to apologize for taking so long to forgive you—who am I to be unforgiving? I deserved it, anyhow—no, don’t deny it. I’ve reaped (and am continuously reaping, might I add) the consequences of what I have sowed unto others.

I am just as imperfect as you are, my dear. Remember everything I told you. I will always be here.

I once
held the tears you cried
in a tiny puddle
inside my folded hand.

Now I watch you cry
from afar…
running
to catch every single tear
and yet
remembering that…
they are no longer mine to hold.