Letter from home

I wish you would hear me when I say that I miss you.
I wish you could see through me and know that I mean it when I hope you're doing well
And the wells I've filled are full of pennies only you can hear but you ignore them.
You pretend you don't get it but you know I know you better than that.
I've come a long way.
I've grown from the cracks in my heart where you once were and the ashes I've cried set my memory on fire
But your letters won't burn.
And every time your head turns you pull it back into position and train your sight for tunnel vision
While your mind is still wandering the backroads of your heart.
I miss you.
I want to be the thought that keeps you up at night; the face in your dreams you can't forget.
You incinerated the hopes that I once had and left a shadow of yourself burned into the ground
And I trace myself inside your arms to remember how it felt to have you here.
To have you near my body again.
But your shadow's flat and so are the lines that connect my body and eventually we fade away.
Where ever you are I hope you're happy - I really do.
I hope you've finally realized what you deserve.
I hope you're still writing with your emotions and not just your pen.
I hope you never forget where ever you've been.
Cause I might just be a letter from home but at least you get mail at all
And I'm getting pretty tired of paper cuts.
And no I don't know where we're going to end up but your number on the back of my hand won't wash off.
Is there a place where the ocean dissolves the sand till there's nothing left but a memory?
Is it safe to say that's how I feel since you've gone...
Like all that I have left is a watered down memory of what once was the only reason I smiled?
For over a year you showed me what it's like to live to breathe to open my eyes and learn how to be myself
But now I'm just an old shoe box placed on the back of your shelf like all the other girls you've left.
Or have been left by.
The future.. Is tainted.
So if you write back make sure it's worth my time because my pen is running out of ink
And my hands are starting to shake from the pain of every unanswered phone call.
I used to fall at night to a fist fight against my pillow and my purley whites
And the mornings always came too soon
I made friends with the man in the moon from nights I stayed awake wishing you could hear me.
My echo's getting softer and won't reach the shore this time;
time stopped like love stops like love grows and I've grown.