Here is my letter not stamped, unmailed,
For all but you to read,
Because nights of common indulgences
Ended in mornings of apathy.
And all I wanted was for you to share
Your smooth fingers, quick laughter
Affinity for philosophy
And excellent taste in film and photography
And all you intended was to be happier
To pick up a little enthusiasm
Listen to someone else's voice
You so knowingly let it happen
And yet no blame rests on your broad shoulders
As my eyes are the ones looking back
Now I recall breakfast in a bed not slept in
And lights never turned off
And days with words that seemed to open
Like umbrellas of hopes and ideas
Bad luck to do indoors
We left dead flowers in plastic vases
On stripped counter tops
Because we were the ones wilting
The way we drained guilt through the kitchen sink
The way the photos can't do justice
To the way I left without
Your address, your phone number,
The correct spelling of your last name
Without intention of ever finding you
Of ever wanting to
And now in misery that I mean to,
I have no idea how.