Free Secrets (Swept Saga) by Becca Lee Nyx Page B

attention anyway. Maybe I should have because with each coming line I drew a blank as to what should come next. It’s not that I didn’t know what to say, it’s the fact that I wanted it to rhyme, I wanted it to flow. Poems come from the heart and the line about her breasts wasn’t working for me. Maybe I should stick to how she makes me feel and talk about how sexy she is when I understand poetry a little better.
    After much hard work I had something I was pleased with. I read it over and over making sure I’ve said what I wanted to say. I’m sure it wasn’t the best poem ever written and I’m positive it didn’t hold up to Shakespeare sonnets, but it would have to work. Besides, how often does someone get a poem written just about them?
    I grabbed a notepad and began writing a letter. Justin had this thing about hand written letters; he felt it was a lost art form. He refused to send e-mails and would often comment that e-mail was the death of the written word. “If you write something by hand it’s easier to organize your thoughts and create a work that might even be art. Typing and printing takes all the beauty out of the written word. Anyone can sit down at a computer and bang away on the keys, but to write something with your own unique hand writing and to feel the ache in your hand from writing all the details and to put that much thought into something, now that is art and speaks of how much you care about someone… or hate them depending on the kind of letter. But I don’t think I’d be mad at a hand written hate letter. At least they took the time to write it out in their own writing how much they hated me. That is a special kind of hate to put that much time into it.” He would say and then laugh his hearty laugh. I smiled at the memory as I tried to put my thoughts in order and write as legibly as I could. I hoped that Crystal’s reaction would be a good one.
    I wonder if she’ll keep the letter with her or if she’ll think it’s silly. Of course I want her to cherish these words, but maybe poetry is lost on women these days. I scratched out what I had written, balled it up, and threw it in the trash. What if she laughs at me and thinks it’s stupid? I’ve put so much work into this and I don’t think I can sit there and be scorned over it. With this poem I’m practically handing her my heart and saying here, read it and don’t hurt it. Was I willing to put myself out there like that? Could I bear to let her hurt me?
    I buried my face in my hands, then stood up and went to the kitchen sink. I know the poem is stupid, but it’s what I feel. I turned on the water, cupped my hands under the running stream, and doused my face. The cold from the water was enough to snap my thoughts into place and strengthen my resolve. It’s my love for her that drives me crazy, and if I look like a fool at least she knows I’m her fool. At least she’ll know how I feel about her and how she affects me. I want her to know me and I want her to love me. People don’t gain love by holding back and guarding their thoughts. They gain love by putting themselves out there even when they feel stupid. They give their heart even if it means heart break. I was willing to let Crystal have my heart even if it meant she would break it and I might never recover. Didn’t some famous person say, “It was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?”
    Before I could change my mind I wrote everything down on a piece of paper, then I folded it up, stuck it in an envelope, stamped and addressed it. Then I marched myself down to the post box and stuck it in. I had a bad moment when I thought about running back over and digging for my letter before Crystal could see how stupid I am, but then I realized that it’s done. Sweet or not she will get it soon. All I can hope is that she likes what I wrote.
     
    My hands were buried deep in my pockets as I walked back to my dorm room, my head down thinking about