By kevin urenda, kluless70@hotmail.com
Date: 8 October 1998

love letters

I really enjoyed writing all those love letters. I was really in love with the idea of wrapping you in a loving bed of word petals, as if picked from all the flowers in my world.

I just knew that the juices flowing out of the end of that instrument were somehow connected to my soul on a molecular level. When I cut those words, they would bleed!

But you left my little world of words. You discovered another life, another love. You stepped out into reality, and I was left behind in what would become a jail made out of the words that were left over.

Now, as if some composer at this keyboard, I leave my pens in a drawer by the bed and I no longer really write… I see my words on the screen, but the electrons that form them are not made up of the stuff of my soul. So, the letters built with them cannot be the essence of love. Or can they?

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