I cannot close the book that we wrote.

The bloody ink may not be dry

Lord knows what I’d do if I were to open it again

And find, that due to my haste, the letters smudged

And all that we had written was illegible.

I feel like with our ending, there could be a sequel.

There were so many untied loose ends.

And I know, I don’t know how many times I’ve read it.

I’ve analyzed and predicted and begged for some sign

Some way to have some hope.

Like you said, “Hope will keep us together,

Even when our lives are overburdened with pain,

Our love will prevail.”

Will it? Will I get a phone call someday,

And your voice tell me, you’ve never stopped loving me?

Not likely. Maybe someday, though,

After a bottle or two of Absolut,

I will get a feeling of absolute courage

And call you up and tell you that this poem is to you,

Only to find that you’re getting married,

And you stopped loving me years ago…