For 20 Dollars...I'll Write You Anything

I can too. (talent is neither here nor there...haha)

I can't write myself back into his life though. I've tried. I wrote the most moving poem you could possibly think of- explaining in depth how remorse fills my heart and what I wouldn't give to go back. He has it somewhere...most likely in a box somewhere under his bed. Under his bed where not even the sunlight can see it...

In my perfect world that poem would be in the same frame, propped up on his night stand in tandem (sp?) to our smiling faces from some great memory we had to freeze.

He would wake up smiling to our picture knowing that I was starting my day off fresh to his face behind glass too. I'd call him in the morning like I used to and from there we'd continue doing what we had been doing since that night at the Palm Harbor Ale House.

Sometimes I wish I could go back- only because I know I can't.

I think most people only wish for impossible things, because wishing is all they have when reality is so cruel (wow thats a deep thought)