Whispering secrets as gentle as a zephyr
Shaking leaves of the weeping willow echo
Each word, each emotion in equal measure
Reading old letters, faded and yellow
Our love affair dead, bleeding out through his pen
His lies, my offering, wing o’er the meadow
Paper drifts on the breeze, origami wren
Folded and creased, sharp angles and dire edges
Razor-honed phrases, punish and cut me again
Sweet nothings we shared, solemn holy pledges
I lost faith in us, the could-bes and what-ifs
Promises hollow, half-truths your messages
These tattered scraps, torn from my heart, lasting gifts
Thin spiral notebook 
This really is beautiful.
It is hard to let go of what-ifs and could-bes, no matter how hollow they turn out to be.
LikeLike
I always wonder why we (I) hang on to those old paper memories, and moreover, why I choose to relive them by reading them again and again. Maybe it’s to remind myself to never be hurt like that again. It’s a lesson I can’t afford to forget. Tara, you’ve capture the pain, and the necessity-the gift they hold.
LikeLike
oh, Tara. Our lost loves are often the most precious and searing. This was beautiful in its pain.
LikeLike
I am glad I read this. It tugs. Thank you for writing it.
LikeLike
A truly beautiful piece of work from an extremely talented woman. Thank you.
LikeLike
Sad and beautiful. And I love that little wren!
LikeLike
Beautiful.
LikeLike
here in my 43rd year, I know that losing someone you loved before you were ready to let go…even decades later, can still hurt, can still make you look at yourself differently and can “punish and cut”.
I wish that What ifs didn’t haunt our lives like they sometimes do.
this was GORGEOUS.
LikeLike
Tara, I cant find the right words to express how beautifully sad this is.
LikeLike
Oh the sadness of the accumulation of what if’s and could be’s…
LikeLike