This is not a poem. I like poems about you though. They usually end with us making fabulous love in the back of that old car. Today it is a letter. A letter on how I never meant to fall in love with you. You even told me at the beginning to not love your broken heart, but I couldn't help myself. I saw the beauty in it. It was a slow love, I promise not all at once. It started with a late night under stars, and ended with me drunk begging you to feel the same way. I just miss you. Maybe that is why I wrote this letter. I was thinking if you read it you would know it was about you. Poems don't identify the subject. You are always my subject. And maybe this letter would bring you back to the return address. You would fall in love me the way I love you now. But then again, this will never be sent to you. You will never know the person at the return address. I am sorry I fell in love with your broken heart, because now our hearts look the same.