The piano weeps an unsung lullaby

I can’t believe alot of things you know. I’m sitting here, my fingers are barely pressing the piano keys down and the rain is lightly pelting my window. It’s May second already when it was just Decemeber when I sat here for you. I sat here in the hopes it all wasn’t true. I waited by the phone for your call and I hugged a pillow to try to block the memory that it wasn’t possible. That any minute now you would walk through the door with that bright smile and wild pink hair. That you would say that you missed me and how it was a relief coming home to see me.None of it is true though. You won’t be coming home. I will not get to see your smile and I hope for nothing but shattered dreams. I glance over the phone and pick it up, acting as if I had heard it ring. I put it to my ear hoping for your voice, but it’s not there. I say ‘hello’ into the phone like you would answer with something cheery and light hearted.
There is nothing, there is no one and every December and every May I sit in front of my piano not to compose, but to mourn for you. Every one was there for me when you died, even if I didn’t want them to be there. I wanted to be alone, I wanted to sit in front of your grave and hope to sink into the ground a be with you. I ended up leabing you once again that day not by my accord, but by Heath’s.How long, how many years will it take before I come to full terms with this? Everyone else could, but I can’t say sayonara just yet. I love you. Oh please, I hope you love me too.

Love you./font>


~ by Raelynn on May 2, 2007.

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