I write love letters
to the oxygen in your lungs
and give thanks
to the trees who allow you to breathe

what a blessing it is
to exist alongside you.

-hw

"Hey babe :)"
I said
And "Hey baby"
Said he
"Heyy"
I said
"Oh well"
Said me:
"Maybe he's busy"
"He always is"
Said the voice, taunting
"Maybe he's working"
"Isn't he always?"
Said they.
"He's too busy for me."
On the depressing, I feed
"But he loved you."
Their words flew
"Shut up, mind. He doesn't anymore."
"What a ******."
"I have Nick."
"And you're sick."
"No. I love him."
"And so do we, that's why he wins."
"You aren't even real."


*"But we're what you feel."