Open Letter to You

An Open Letter to You

You used to smile, staring at her while she worked though her own thoughts, waiting patiently for her to come to whatever conclusion she was going to arrive at, unknown to the both of you.

You said you loved this about her, but you didn’t.

You used to stop whatever you were doing to unlock the door for her, coffee in hand, for a quick pop in.  She’d apologize profusely.

You said you loved this about her, but you didn’t.

You used to wipe her tears away while talking about the heavy stuff or the silliest of commercials.  She found herself in your eyes while you did it.

You said you loved this about her, but you didn’t.

You used to make her finish her sentences when she would get interrupted – put a finger up and say, “we aren’t done here.  So, when,

You said you loved her back, she believed it.

No, sweet girl, that wasn’t love, it was novelty.

She asked to explain herself.  She asked for 10 minutes of your time to work through the mess that she was feeling and experiencing.  You couldn’t care less what she was thinking. 

You said you loved all of her, but she was just novel.

She asked if you wanted a tall americano as a peace-offering for her fiery spirit.  This isn’t new, She’d shared that it was under there.  You knew this about her.

You said that you loved all of her, but she was just novel.

She asked if she could carry this on -have a piece of you still.  Begging for crumbs like a fool you’d already moved on. You don’t need her thoughts, her coffee, or for her to finish her sentence.

You said you loved all of her, but she was just novel.

I guess being novel feels a lot like being loved.

She was never loved, simply a novelty.