I miss your letters,
Once sent with regularity
On tiny cards bright green, orange, pink, blue

Every few days, I'd check the mail with a grin
And find your iconic cards,
Sometimes they'd even come two at a time

You'll never know what your letters meant,
Or how they'd make my day
As I ripped each open to devour

I kept every one of the blessed things,
They littered my desk, my bedside
Like tiny pockets of love

And then in one fell swoop,
They were ceremoniously discarded,
Along with every other memento
That scalded my skin, my mind,
And my bloodstained heart

I'd check the mailbox for months after,
Praying I'd find a tiny colored envelope,
Praying for medicine for my ailing spirit,
But none ever came.

I've never sent anyone else a letter since,
Your letters will remain but another hallmark
Of your unbelievable kindness and love,
The kind I'm sure I never deserved

Whisper me sweet nothings of time melting away these regrets
Or how time itself melted away all these months and years apart
Assure me that the years have dulled these memories, diluted their potency
Lie to me and tell me these memories have faded or that time heals all

Time, the biggest liar of all,
Taking memories and simply aging them in oak barrels to be sampled like a fine whiskey with a cigar or a side of regret

Time doesn't heal a **** thing,
It makes tragedy tolerable,
Like soldiers desensitized to the smell of death and rot

Time can't heal a story whose happy ending can never be written as intended,
It can only lend itself so that the story may be rewritten.