3

I wrote your

name on a

scrap of paper 

I found in

a bin, the

pages were wrinkled 

and stained with

what looked like

dirt but I 

liked the look

of it, so

I wrote on

it and waited

for your reply;

the pages soon

dried, your eyes,

your eyes soon

found their way

out of my

mind and your

laugh, your laugh

felt like a

thousand kisses to

my memory and

your words, your

words never did

find their way 

back; I wrote

your name on

an old scrap

of paper, in

the hope you’d

notice the handwriting 

and realise it

was no stranger

but I, all 

along, it was

I; I wrote

you thousands of

letters, throwing them

to the wind,

hoping they’d float

their way back

to you, I 

even screamed your

name into the

darkness of those

December nights and

still, no answer. 

I wrote your

name on a

scrap of paper

I found in

a bin, the

paper was dirty

but I wasn’t 

looking for anything

particularly clean,just

the sweet feel

of home within 

your name, your

beauty, your age;

I found you,

I found you

there, I found

you sitting there,

reading an old

scrap of paper 

that had fallen

out of the

rubbish as you

left your house. 

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