I wrote you one thousand love letters,
But only a few were right.
I poured everything I had into them in the hopes that my pen marks would bleed through
and etch my words on to your heart.

And I know where you kept them all tucked away.
I imagined you sneaking looks at them
in late hours of the night
so you could read them silently in my voice and pretend I was there
as I did with yours.
I noted every curve of your penmanship
And memorized how you wrote as if it were a dying language.

But then you stopped looking at my notes.
The ink faded and my love was no longer legible to you.
As your words still resonated in me, mine fled from you.
And the words became sharp and venomous    
They hit me in the gut and i spit fire back because it was all I knew how to do.
And I am sorry.

While we may never again exchange folded papers filled with secrets and sweet nothings,
I hope some day you find yourself late at night
reading my love letters
you never threw away.