Words on a Page

I still have all your letters,
stashed upon my shelf,
I've kept them there,
all these years,
as a comfort to myself,
but on the occasion that they're opened,
and all read through complete,
I realize in my heart of hearts,
my happiness they deplete,
But even so, I keep them there,
to remind me of life's season,
when I was loved, and loved someone,
and for no other reason,
than love was what there was,
what we had,
what we knew was true,
until I found,
until you admitted,
that it was only me who loved you.

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