Letters in the Wind

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all as it is better to have been stabbed and bled than never to have been stabbed at all. They said to me that every rose has its thorns yet no one told me that in embracing one my heart would be pierced. Though beautiful that crimson flowed, that which indicates my living wound is all that remains and that I gifted you. Take the warmth of my blood to keep yourself in comfort and the red to paint the chipped portions of your portrait. Use the sweet words which have caressed your ear in ways my hands could not and memorize the script for the next man to step in my shoes to hear. Sweep him off his feet with borrowed poetry and speak from the tongue that parted my soul when you asked me to go, though to him speak not of me. Leave me in memory and buried in the sands of time and I will stifle my heart and bite my tongue as it is only my part to play. I will not remember and I will not speak of the missing time that reflects forgotten moments better left as sentimental fire kindling. 'Tis better to have never met and on than ever to forget you not.