Letters to Me

It's pages are old--
A tarnished yellow--faded
and wrinkled.
They smell like a million
Words left unsaid
Baking in the hot sun.

The weathered binding is
Splitting at the seams.
Worn and well-used--a
Sign of friendship that
Longs to expand but knows it can't.

Its words are beginning to
Fade, but only in print.

For what it holds is a peace
that comes after the rain,
or from a first kiss or
from the smell of a long goodbye--
or a long hello.

Look beyond the cover--
See me.
For who I am.
For Who I long to be.
Find in me what I find in you.