I opened up that piece of paper,
that you had written months before.
Stared at it briefly, ignored the intentions.
Your handwriting, rather poor.
Oxidizing, oh, for months on end,
the ink, it cracked away.
I wasn’t careful to preserve it,
forgetful and far removed.
I ignored the words you’d written,
though things long since have been soothed.

I tried to understand the things
you once held so tightly close.
Your pill bottles or scissors,
yes, you “needed them”, I know.
Have they kept you from the depths,
during all our time away?
Have you found somebody new?

But even as I know it’s long and gone,
I can’t forget the hours.
The curtain’s closed, I’ve took my bow,
audience cheers just grow louder.
I ripped the note before my eyes,
before I had a chance to digest.
I don’t need someone to fall for,
though I’ve been holding my breath.
And as the room begins to spin,
I can hear the choir coming through,
it’s clear they’re not here for me,
they’re singing, just for you.