re: Stacks
This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me
-----
I keep stacks of the letters you've sent me over the past few years under my bed, in a box. It's this pretty little thing, made of pinewood and with a red ribbon on top. There are stacks of letters tied with an elastic band in it. I read them every day. They remind me of time where all we did was sit on a bench at the park and talk, talk, talk for hours without saying a word.
Nobody sends me letters anymore, though. I sent you this little postcard the other day, it has a river on it, and my squiggly handwriting you always used to mock on the back.
But I never really got an answer to it.
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me
-----
I keep stacks of the letters you've sent me over the past few years under my bed, in a box. It's this pretty little thing, made of pinewood and with a red ribbon on top. There are stacks of letters tied with an elastic band in it. I read them every day. They remind me of time where all we did was sit on a bench at the park and talk, talk, talk for hours without saying a word.
Nobody sends me letters anymore, though. I sent you this little postcard the other day, it has a river on it, and my squiggly handwriting you always used to mock on the back.
But I never really got an answer to it.