Dear Sir,
We haven’t spoken in awhile.
The last letter I sent contained
an end, a bitter truth neither of us
could avoid, and several
twists of my rusted knife into
your chest.
I found myself thinking of you today,
my thoughts projecting our summer together
on a blank canvas.
(I want to say I miss you,
but I’m not sure if it comes from
an argument with another,
or if I made the wrong choice after
all).
You’re half a world away
and I’ve forgotten your address.
Begging for forgiveness seems trivial at this point.
I have nothing to say that you want to hear.
My heart gingerly took a few steps
outside my fenced in yard,
wandering away
to find some sort of solace
in our nostalgia.