Love Letter
In the back of my closet,
high upon the shelf,
there sits an old love letter
that I keep to myself.
Its pages are crumpled,
the edges a tad bit torn.
I can recite his words by memory,
although the writings worn.
He tells of his undying love,
and how we were meant to be.
Our vows whispered at the church,
they were our fantasy.
Like all things, neither tried nor true,
we had to be apart.
A victim of the ages,
he broke my sixth grade heart.
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