Dear Brian,
There’s this letter
Under the mattress of my bed
Torn and tattered
For the boy, who looks in your mirror
Early in the morning
When your face is pale and groggy with sleep
During that moment, getting ready for school
When you can still remember dreaming
When your crinkled sheets still have the impression
Of your sleeping body strewn in them
And when your pillow has barley risen
From holding your head all night long
I have this letter
For the boy in the mirror
Who stares back at you, yawning and stretching
He’s not fully awake, and a little confused
But the memory of me still lingers in his mind
Like your scent in the sheets
This letter is written for him, not you
Because he remembers love
The tickles and intimate moments
The conversations unlike any we’ve had before
But you stand there, look at him with disgust
Sort of how you look at me, now
Because all you let yourself remember is
Your embarrassment, fury, and shame
You carry it with you, as you walk out of the bathroom
Through the front door
But the letter is for your sleepy echo
Because you’re reflection in the mirror holds onto that love
That you wake up in the morning remembering
Until you get so infuriated
It’s forced to disappear.
And maybe when you acknowledge this letter
And my worth as a human being
I’ll let you read the one under my mattress
Torn and tattered.