Words on a Page

I still have all your letters, 
stashed upon my shelf, 
I've kept them there, 
all these years, 
as a comfort to myself, 
but on the occasion that they're opened, 
and all read through complete, 
I realize in my heart of hearts, 
my happiness they deplete, 
But even so, 
I keep them there, 
to remind me of life's season, 
when I was loved, 
and loved someone, 
and for no other reason, 
than love was what there was, 
what we had, 
what we knew was true, 
until I found, 
until you admitted, 
that it was only me who loved you.

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