Six

Dear Mr. Blue,

I don't understand.

My heart can't tell up from down,
It's missing in action,
So I wish I knew how to react, but
Sadly, I don't.

You're asking me to do something
Over and above what I expected, and
Until now, I would have ran the other way.

But I can't. 


Yours,

Eleanor

Five

Dear Mr. Blue, 

I've tried writing you this 

haphazard, scatter-brained letter

for days now. 

The right words don't come, 

and though I strive to write to you 

with eloquence and grace, 

my only words are harsh and blunt. 

I long to gain that honesty 

but I can't tell what's truth anymore, 

and I want to think what I feel, 

but I don't know that I have a heart to feel with. 

All these things I wish to tell you, 

that you may or may not wish to hear,

are now lost. 

Even more painful 

than the confusing of my heart, 

is the taking of my words. 

Yours, 

Eleanor 

Four

Dear Mr. Blue,

This morning I woke up
and you were here,
almost as if you never left,
and you were the same in every way.

Your eyes were drawn back
just like they've always been,
and your words were weak,
like they always will be.

I wanted to hear your words
wanted to look into those eyes,
wanted some sort of understanding
that you have yet to offer me.

This morning I woke up
with month old tears clinging to my cheeks.
I'm mourning you, Mr. Blue.
I'm mourning you.

Yours,

Eleanor

Three

Dear Mr. Blue,

I regret to inform you that nothing has changed.

Misused and misdirected,
Is my once single heart.
Stop all your hiding,
So I can be released from my fear.

You're running through my thoughts,
Opening all the locked doors,
Unable to stop.

Please stop. 

Yours,

Eleanor.

Two

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am aware of you
in a way you may not understand.
I hide between library stacks,
I run to empty hallways,
trying to lose you.
Or at least the feeling of you.

In a week you created me,
with a reality you carefully orchestrated,
only to pull the hypothetical plug
without warning, reason, or rhyme.
I scream "injustice!" with a tired voice,
and you sit in your chair and chuckle.

Abomination, I say.
It's the only thing I can say. . .

Yours,

Eleanor.