love letters

been writing love letters lately
holding onto them
folding them into squares
drawing on the outside

intending to send them
and then debating the merit
of wearing your heart out
with a ball point pen
and small sheets of paper

watched a movie
where the leading sixteen year
old youngen gets the guy
with a letter finally sent
it was never meant to be tho
the letter
the love was

and i sit here
stuck in my own
particular
strain of
dissilussionment
i've sent the letter
or the email
or text
or whatever
and gotten the guy
before

before when it was safe
before when i had never been
let down and left
or when i had never
done the leaving

now i've left a lot
and been left
a few times, painfully
he's standing on my front steps
with two bags of my 'things'
he wanted to return and
he wanted to end it
and he had all his friends
waiting at their apartment
where i spent five out of seven
nights for five out of seven
months and it was short
but it was long in suddenly
breached adult years
of intensity

and a part of me
hasn't trusted anyone
or the word love
or the feeling of intimacy
or the feeling of wanting
and being wanted
ever since
five years ago
a boy i thought was a man
wrenched his life out of orbit
from mine
with very little
explanation
or apology

these letters look up at me
i've written them
they're mine
the words are
a prayer
they're out there
i know it
i'll wait