Papersunglasses

A hopeless romantic, For I do love another who cannot love me near the same. A hopeless romantic, that is what they say, because they do not understand that without you my life would be  in dismay. Lost and quiet spoken, you remain the voice I lack. A hopeless romantic, until death, that's a solid fact. The foundation that I walk on from day to day, breaks beneath my next breath, because to love another, sometimes may mean your death. Hopelessly I crave to mix with the patterns of your day to day, a permanent fixture, that rest upon your shelf, so that I may watch you, swallowed in yourself. How do I object to my own speech, I can barely bre

1984, on a Sunday morning in June I sit perched at our dinning room table awaiting my wife Annabelle to serve breakfast to Myself and our two children, when there is a knock at the door. As strange as I was for a Sunday morning before church, I went to answer only to be greeted by a tall man who merely handed me a small envelop with a large A sprinted on the front and a address to me on the back flap. I returned to my seat at the table, my wife Annabelle asked me who was at the door and I told her a a man who handed me this, as I held up the envelop so that she could see it. She encouraged me to open it and as I did I realized it was a letter