Burn the Letters.

The boy had spent his life
covering things with stamps
so as to send them off
to better places.
And while it was true
that he spent some of his time
collecting other’s kisses in the rain,
all his life he had dreamed
of falling in love and finding
a small brown tabby cat.

Trees held no interest for him
except when they were
dead, their leaves crumpled
and brown. It was this rejection
of nature that spurred him on.
Long dark nights of lighting
candles and putting them out
with tear drenched fingertips.

And now he had the desire
and the drive, not to mention,
an old green tandem bike
with a bell that played a tune
like the waters of the world
and purple violets. At last he
could escape into the world to
find his one. To find a
dreamer of his very own.

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