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With steady hands and cold fingers,
I write you this brokenhearted letter…

Dear Love of Lies,

I think you have taken every ounce of me,
every part of my being.

You have left me black and blue on the inside,
not the out.
More times than not,
it hurts more on the inside.

You broke into my heart’s safe
and took everything you could.

And now the safest place I had
lies shattered and exposed,
with pieces of a love
I’m still trying to gather
from the floor.

You look at me with cold eyes
that once held so much endearing love,
and now hold only regret
and even colder lies.

You talk to others
as if I don’t exist,
like I was never born—
or maybe I was,
and I’m just a bad page
rather than a chapter
in your cold and lonely life.

You make midnight phone calls
and never say a word.

I know it’s you
by the sound of your breathing.
I can hear your hurt.

You act like you don’t know me,
yet you seem to follow me around.

We make eye contact
and you turn and walk away.
Sometimes I wonder
what it is you have to say.

You’re as cold as winter,
when once you could have been July.

I don’t understand the reason.
I don’t understand the lies.

How can a soul be so warm
and then become as cold as ice?

Maybe it was me
for trying too hard.
Maybe it was me
for only wanting you to be happy.

If happiness is wrong,
I won’t say I’m sorry.

I won’t give sympathy
to your pity party.

Now I take this letter
and tuck it into its envelope.

One little push
and under your door it goes.

I can hear your footsteps
as they come closer…

But now,
I’m on my way down the hall
and out the door.

It’s a bright new day.
The sun is hot.
The sky is blue.

Here’s to new beginnings—