you wrote me
78 letters in the months of
october and november;
i didnt realize just how
powerful
your hand could become
when it was faced with
unimaginable distance
and a lack of
touches like strawberries and bananas

you wrote me
a single letter
in the month of december;
i didnt realize just how
lost
you could become
when you were faced with
a cold right side
of a queen sized bed
and a mind
that said you werent enough
without me by your side

you wrote me
a single note
in the month of april;
i didnt realize just how
impactful
i could become
when i was faced with
the decision to either
write you back
or toss the letters,
the latter of which i did without consideration

you wrote me
no letters
after those months;
i didnt realize just how
enjoyable
those letters could become
until after you
took up your wrists
and slit them end to end
so you could no longer be tempted
to write to a girl who seemed to no longer care for you