Sunday, April 3, 2011

It Is Over

Now I know.
I mean for sure,
It's done.
I can pack up my memories in boxes
With diary pages like old news papers around them.
I can put those pictures
And dreams away.
Every time I see a place I wanted to show you
I can finally look without the ghosts images
Of you and I before my eyes.
It's fitting that on this day
There should be rain.
Someone was merciful and didn't give me
A bright sun to mock my misery.
No. This isn't a nice day,
A fine day,
There aren't birds singing in a blue perfect sky.
This isn't the kind of day I would of wished
To share with you.
It is a broken ruined day
And I like it.
Every perfect thing reminds me of you.

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