Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Hope to Stop

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Hope to Stop

I approach at my guitar
sitting silently in its stand,
I run my fingers across the strings
but I don’t feel like picking it up.

I shuffle through my albums
but I can’t decide on one
to listen to,
all of them remind me
of him tonight.

I sit on my bed,
pick up my notebook,
trying to ignore the ripped out page
that held the poem
I mailed to him,
the only first draft
to ever be mailed away.
I turn to a fresh page
and just write, mostly
question after question
of which none will ever be answered,
and hope to stop crying
before I reach the end of the page.


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