Something I read tonight made me think. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it. You couldn't have written it about me, could you? No.. it was obviously about her. And that dream you mentioned... made me think. I remember you telling me about that dream. And I remember thinking to myself about how much reason I had to believe what I did. But I was wrong. The big white house didn't symbolize marriage. The faceless busts... who knows what they symbolized... But what you felt was ME was on display... in a glass case... and I seemed afraid, didn't I? The more I think, the more I remember.

And your heart. You left it in the desert. Albuquerque. That's where you left it. Under that tree she described in that poem. The heart that was never truly mine... But what of the heart I had before? What of MY heart? I gave it to you. Did you ever accept it? Maybe at one point, you did. Then you used it, left it in the desert somewhere.

The last time I saw you, you wouldn't even hug me. That's okay.. I've stopped expecting them of you. After all, you have another now... And I'm alone. Still. Waiting. But for what?

Maybe it was my heart you shipped out in your sleep? Wrong address.. Forgot to tell you I moved. So it's sitting somewhere in a dead letter office. Waiting for me. To come claim it. Is it really my heart, though? Or did you really send out yours in some dream-state to some distant destination? Perhaps it's still on your wall; that postcard you got from Venice. Along with that beautiful picture of things you thought were meant to be. You never had a single picture of us. Even though I did. I had them all... That should've said something to me right there.

Another silent cue of how little I meant. In some ways, those hints were so insignificant... Yet they could've saved me. And the things I heard you bought for her. Your first love. Your true love. Your first shot at true happiness. I was just a roadblock to you. Just something keeping you from your train ride. Your four hour long train ride to catch up to your heart. Which caught a ride on a lightning bolt to get there. Or you sent it; uploaded it byte by byte for her to download and keep. Maybe that's where you left it. Not in the desert, but in her hard-drive.

You'd probably read this and once again misinterpret. No, it's not a message that I still love you. No, it's not some message that there is some tiny hope in my life that you will turn around and come back. It's just a simple request. All I'm asking for is my heart. You stole it from me... broken it may be, but still gone. I just want it back. So if you're walking through the desert again and happen to find it, don't send it usps this time... Please hand deliver it back to me. So that I may crazy glue it back to some sort of order. And begin to replace what I have lost.