by Emily Branwell

Created on: April 02, 2010

Mr. Neruda, tonight I am too sad to write the saddest lines.

Tonight I cradle emptiness in the core of my marked heart;

And that is such a crime, for I gave nothing permission to leave it behind.

Oh, I am safe and well.

No raindrops touch my forehead.

No kisses touch my cheek.
My soul silently demands in piercing tones that tear the physical to hundreds of thousands of un-mend-able pieces.

(Pieces that were never meant to be mend-able)

My soul demands it all back; all it has lost yet never meant to lose.

So you see Mr. Neruda,

I hope that some night soon I may feel so light as you did on that night on which you wrote the saddest lines.

Hope- it is unbreakable, isn’t it?

Damnably unbreakable.

And yet I am so broken.

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