Summer In Anchorage

Realizing I'll never have another like you, I simmer in the sound of new age music and read old love letters as if they were lyrics. I hum, then start to sing those clichéd poems you wrote for me behind the celtic violin— all those forced and obvious rhymes strike me in a different way than before. You really did love me and I really did light up your life like the sun, as you said. But if only you knew that the sun always sets in the west like me, when I left for Alaska— for a lonely one room apartment in Anchorage. The sun stays for days in the summer, here but I'm still cold.