It was a letter.
A middle school type letter where you had someone give it to me.
You were saying that you loved me.  
Or that you could've loved me had you not been so busy with all that was going on in your life.
How terribly tragic.

Imagine me.
Desperately pining after you,  yearning to grab your attention every time I saw you only to find that you were too busy for me.
You once said you would always have time for me
You once said you loved me.
What happened to that?

I kept that letter.
Kept it with all of the poems and notes I'd ever written for you.
They're nothing but old pictures now.
Frayed at the edges, but still full of precious memories that hurt to look at.