I have been looking all over the rubble.
For my love letter that she last wrote
For me, before she slipped into the deep.
You know what made me search,
l met two love birds, and l became envious of them.
I remembered that l was once loved.
I meticulously searched my wadrobe thinking its still there only to remember l burnt the whole wadrobe, because l had no firewood to burn away the
Thoughts l still harbored for her.
Then dashed for my double pocket denim jean only to realise l was naked
Had burnt all the clothes she had bought for me.
But l still knew deep in the womb of thoughts that somewhere, somehow my letter was lying idly longing for my kiss.
Then suddenly, l remembered my old diary which l used to write everyday, about my love for her.
It stayed underneath my pillow never removed it, for l loved the idea of dreaming all the night about my love.
I discovered my diary was not there most probably had used it as a toiletry.
Since tissues had become expensive.
All in all l could not find my love letter.
Where was my love letter l do not know.
The honest verdict, is there was never a love letter.
Its just l was obessed by a wish to have someone write one for me.
Thats the open candid, l know you where thinking of helping me find the missing love letter.
Never wished to leave you broken.
R.G. Kirk tell Maya Angelou that l still wish her to write one for me.
Charles Dickens prepare my wedding dress.
Shakespeare prepare my love potion.
©siyakha
S