Bookshelf of thee Heart

I have a bookshelf for thee heart,
With books and letters of our love art.
The ink of my pen runs through my veins,
As it fills in the story that’s in my brain.

The bookshelf is now getting crowded
With all the stories I wrote ;
Of you who flicked through my pages
And closed it before it end.

But the bookshelf has one constant visitor,
Who sits and collects the dust
That covers her finest writings
With the title of heart,
“To you from yours”
I’m afraid for the letters to open
And some to close,
Letters for you that I wrote
That are kept in rows.

You may think why I do so,
Write letters for the one who doesn’t knows?
Because I hope one day I’ll mean enough to you,
And you’ll write stories of not me but “ours” too.

Deboleena

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-green-sweater-writing-on-white-paper-9489781/