Ghost of love poems past.

To the love letters that could have been written,

the boys who would have quoted Shakespeare,

the girls who obsessed over them and stored them in perfume.

I would have been queen,

there would be no awkward phone conversations.

No. I would have written,

and it would have brought him to his knees.

To the age that I was denied,

before emojis and memes.

To the verses that were replaced with lols.

I wish I had sent a postcard.

I wish I had the chance to agonize over my drafts,

to sift through every adjective and adverb,

trying and failing to find the right one.

I want to have scoffed at the blatant list,

the pathetic declarations of heartache and longing.

Imagine it,

the ability to create.

To dedicate yourself to a page.

To declare your love on paper.

When pen touched paper,

when correspondence wasn’t symbolic.

When emotions came to life in ink.


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