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The truth is
I have hoarded your words.
Made haphazard stacks on on the stairs,
on the grand piano
so I would not forget as well
or as thoroughly
as you have.

For now, new beds play host to the faded pages
of a notebook, the one I used to write letters to you
that I never sent, that spent so many years under the pillows.
Washed in the laundry, the ink leaves black stains on white sheets,
determined to exist,

There are ghosts beyond the shadow of the fabric.
In that place where poetry comes from,
they're counting the threads of our histories.
They intersected, I know they did:
You read it.
I wrote it down.

Flames lick the edges of the bound volume.
is cheaper
than leather --
But you knew that.

It burns faster.
I suppose you knew that too.
No idea where this came from.

I struggled with the division of the last two stanzas...i tried them together and apart and couldn't make a decision, so I went with what sounded right out loud.

Comments and critiques much appreciated.
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ContaminatedLove Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2012  Student Writer
Featured here: [link] c:
Ebony-Tiger Featured By Owner Nov 28, 2012  Student General Artist
Wow. Another work that's a punch to the gut.

Beautiful. I'm too bound by emotion to look at this with constructive criticism in mind.
xxDearOblivionxx Featured By Owner Nov 28, 2012
Thank you <3 This one was really organic, I'm pretty proud of it.
Ebony-Tiger Featured By Owner Nov 28, 2012  Student General Artist
I really don't blame you for feeling pride. *grins*
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Submitted on
November 27, 2012
File Size
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