ode to missing parts

Mary belongs to the words of a song..

I found a letter in a book, tucked away, hidden. It was filled with dreams, post marked and complete with a soundtrack that I couldn’t stop myself from listening to.

(I could almost hear Lucy grrr’ing at me as I popped the disc into my computer)

I read again between the lines upon each page,
The words of love you sent me.

I can hear some songs and travel back in time to that place. Was it warm there? Safe?

A few beats into the soundtrack of my life all rancor and bitterness fades. It’s replaced by this ache to just pick up the phone and erase all the stupid-ness that brought me here…

that whirls around the April moon
Whirling in an arc of sadness

I suppose there are a lot of missing people lately. And I’m just here plastering their faces on to milk cartons.

It still hurts when I go to my moms house and see those stairs, and ny boy wraps his arms around my waist and asks me why I look so miserable, close your eyes, slow breaths, count to ten.. Don’t think, don’t think…

you know I thought someone would notice, I thought someone would say something if I was missing.

Because some things never change, but unfortunately some things do

*Angel*

Tell me, how much longer, How much longer?