Photo By Carrie Thomas
There was a time when I was quite romantic.
Do you still recall the flowers dried and hanging
from a nail you pounded to our wall?
When I see the nail, I smell the flowers
and then every little thing just makes me cry.
If I could close my eyes and turn back all the hours
would I find that I'm a pretty decent guy?
After all is said and done,
the things unsaid are what I fear
regretting letting words get stuck behind my throat where you can't hear.
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