PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She hands me a thin envelope.

“This is what I was saying I had to give you”

I thank her and take the bill for the meal we just shared

I shouldn’t have paid, I shouldn’t take on such a caring role.

It was pretty expensive, too.

I feel my wallet’s pain as I pull it out to cover the cost.

How I wish there had been money inside that envelope.

$20. $5. $1. Even a quarter. Anything but what I would face

I see the scribbled smiley face where it’s been sealed

The letters scrawled out that together make a holiday wish: Happy Hanukkah

Chanukkah can be spelled lots of ways, but this way it was alliterative.

Its perfection sickened me. I’d much rather have been sickened

by the alliteration rather than to read what truly lay before me.

I play with the flap of the envelope, easing the glue apart.

I see her scripted red ink that I have come to recognize

after all the stanzas she has asked me to read.

I see the same familiar poetic format. I begin to fret.

Cautiously, I turn the flap back down and place the letter in my purse.

“I’ll erm… get to this... uhh...  later” inwardly wondering when I would

She walks with me in the snow as we crunch the ice balls with our feet

Countless childhood memories are recalled as I listen to the crunching

It’s time for my therapist to see me. I bid her farewell.

We quickly hug, after she requests that we do.

I feel uncomfortable and at loss. I sense myself as an awkward middle schooler

I enter the building and sit down. As I wait, I question the envelope in my bag

I begin to read the letter, the poem, rather… the declaration.

I can’t recall the words that were written, for I have done the best I can

to remove the stanzas from my conscious memory.

What I do remember, is that there was no question … she had declared her love for me

She loved me, in a way that I certainly did not love her.

I looked into myself for the knowledge of what to say. How to respond.

I found nothing but knew that I could not let this sit. I whimped out

I addressed the issue by way of text message.

“Nice poem, seems like you really care for the person…who is it for?”

I knew long before she guaranteed my assumption, it was for me.

“I meant, uhh… who’s it about?” … but there was no doubt, it was about me too.

“Seems like you really care for the person. Like, as more than a friend. Which is crazy.

Right? Because we’re friends. And just friends. And it’s awesome that way

Without further confusion. Right!?” I was almost comforted as I heard the ‘yes’ that I expected

“I’m happy with that. Silly me, I knew I was taking a big risk…”

The sword of Damocles. The issue would have lingered above my head.

It was a relief to remove the load from my shoulders, but I felt guilty

For the pain that I had caused. I pity her and I can not forget this girl.

She still lingers in my every thought, and the Damoclesian effect was no better

I tried to prevent such occurences, but she haunts me.

Never, do I stop thinking of her.

The exact thing happens no matter what we say or do.