All That Is Left.

A journey through the absence of a long time dwindling love that has never fully died, and the lover's feelings of the reunion with her beloved.

Letters from you,
that's all I've had the ability to hold
for so long.

You come home soon.
Will it be a return to normalcy?
Or a distorted image of what was?

Or will things get better?
I have this naive hope that
you'll give up your vices.

That you'll hold me again,
wrap me in familiar linen,
return me to security and relieve me of doubt.

With you, I'm not good with words.
There are so many things I wish to say,
yet lead fills my lungs at every attempt.

We've been at this game for so many years,
have we lost sight of what we once were?
Has the past truly vanished with time?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
or out of sight, out of mind?
This hope is futile, you're always out of reach.

Oh, unrequited love, what are your motives?
To sign your letters,
"With love."

To fill my heart with anticipation
and melancholy for what was.
For what was extinguished.

When you return will you revive
the passion of the past?
Or allow it to continue withering?

Oh, these things I'll never say,
birth dreams of restoration
of the feelings we once held near.

For now I'll try to forget the words
that have aroused the ghosts of a long extinct dream.
Ghosts seemingly unable to be awaken.

'Til then, love.
Always 'til then.
Never now.

Signed,
Your Ever Unrelenting Love,
Me.

Author's Note

These are my first real attempts at poetry, so please forgive me if they aren't very good. Suggestions are always welcome!