I wake up from another too long nightmare
It’s the one where I’m falling, so far down
I jolt awake, look over but you aren’t there
And I scream without making any sound
Because all I can wonder as I sit in this old hotel alone
Counting the dark red sunsets and streetlamps at night
Is if you are looking at the same red sunset back home
And if you really meant it when you said “I’ll write”
You told me that distance is nothing, we would make it through
So young and naive as you whispered empty promises
Muttered profanities like “I” and “Love” and “You”
Three one syllable words that when combined, take hostages
I wrote you one-hundred and seventy-two letters
One for each time I felt a tug at my broken heart
And wish I had listened to my father’s lectures
I gave my soul away in the very last postcard, the same one you tore apart
The same one I left a piece of myself in, the piece that held all my joy
All my courage and strength, all my wit and laughter
Because I didn’t know that to you I was just some childish play-toy
Not someone worthy of your chasing after
When I went away I swore you were my one and only
The same girl now curses and beats her head against the wall
Holding on because all I want to do is to feel, even if all I can feel is lonely
Because those one-hundred and seventy-two letters weren’t even opened at all