The letters kept pouring in for Juliette
Love letters by the dozen
In pink, parchment, and crumpled envelopes
Sealed with high hopes, waiting to be opened, waiting to speak up.
But they weren’t letters of anguished love,
Not in need of advice or consolation,
Rather they were letters of admiration and awe,
For Juliette had given them light.
Every single one had something to say
About Juliette’s hair, or the way she spoke,
and even her presence
Evoked a thousand and one words that still do not suffice.
Fair maiden, why do you attract throngs of well-wishers, of hopefuls, of subtle cowards?
What is there that ignites a fire of eloquence, of stammering, and fleeting bravery?
You are a shining light, and enigma, a flame so unattainable
So let no one dampen your bright eyes and pure heart.
Juliette, don’t let them sway you with their honey-sweet words,
or the ink-blotched promises scrawled on paper, oh so easily burned up,
but leave instead the letters where they belong:
in a trunk up in the attic.