I got your letter today.
I smiled as I lay in bed,
eyes closed, imagining,
even before I opened the envelope,
what you felt as you wrote everything,
even the address
guessing wrongly,
I read the harsh, black, scars
left on the page for me to find,
felt the pressure of your pen
through the paper,
the ink still damp on my fingers
I wish letters came with warnings
and not just a return address
crying, the pillow surrounding my ears,
I blame you, but you can’t hear me
I shred your accusations
into tiny squares
that create lacy snow-patterns
on the sheets
and drift like ocean waves
crumbling sandcastles
that cover your picture
with dust
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