Today I read the letter you wrote so long ago.
You wrote to tell me I was no good anymore.
You were hundreds of miles away,
You were to afraid to pick up the phone.
Would my voice have changed your mind?
Could I have convinced you to stay?
Today I burnt the pictures, the ones you took in Maine.
I watched them go up in flames.
In the letter you said I was your safety.
What am I to you now?
Nothing but a memory.
I wish I didn't reremember you.
After all the beautiful words you wrote
how can I ever believe anyone else.