the more things change, the more they remain the same.

thank you “blackie”  for reminding me..

 

 

i found the letter
you never wrote
frayed ends, discoloured ink
it smells of your perfume not frequently used
the words are big
in your small script
jostling
in the small unshared silences
true once
they tumble under whispers
erringly overheard
your name,
i write
no music flows now into my ears
the ink tastes bitter
paper smells of ashes
perhaps even your death is dead
i wrap you up and stare
at my newly emptied space.