I wrote this for you

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All the times I truly loved you
All the times I openly cried for you
All the times I internally died for you
All the times I playfully danced with you
All the times I quietly romanced with you
All the profound hope deep in my heart
All the horrific pain that tore me apart
All the pure love you gave to me
All the joy you handed me freely
All the sincerity, honesty, and kindness
You touched my soul so deeply
I don’t know whether to just smile or cry tears of ecstasy
That I am yours and you are mine
All the beautiful dreams I’ve had about you and I
All this I cannot deny
All those people in this remarkable world
All the time I am waiting to locate your being
All the time I’m trembling
Because although I haven’t met you yet
I wrote this for you.

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I wrote this for you

Standard

All the times I truly loved you
All the times I openly cried for you
All the times I internally died for you
All the times I playfully danced with you
All the times I quietly romanced with you
All the profound hope deep in my heart
All the horrific pain that tore me apart
All the pure love you gave to me
All the joy you handed me freely
All the sincerity, honesty, and kindness
You touched my soul so deeply
I don’t know whether to just smile or cry tears of ecstasy
That I am yours and you are mine
All the beautiful dreams I’ve had about you and I
All this I cannot deny
All those people in this remarkable world
All the time I am waiting to locate your being
All the time I’m trembling
Because although I haven’t met you yet
I wrote this for you.

There’s no post on sundays¬†

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I check for mail on every SundayAnd Sunday’s are bizarre

For the mail is not delivered Sunday

Empty my hands are

Of letters that I want 

So is that why Sunday I always check? 

For Mail that will never come

On the day they don’t collect

Handwritten letters are obsolete 

In this great technology age

I just want to turn the page

Turn the page back

To when lovely letters came

Neatly penned in black

Until time rewinds itself

The mailbox I will check

On those bitter sundays

When emptiness swallows the hope of a letter

Can we please go back?