I think of you all the time and how I never call.
So I bought cards and stamps.
I would write all the people I loved but hardly knew anymore,
and I would feel the keeper of guilty weight untie my wrists,
let me hit the ground hard and remember that I am connected to something.
I tucked them away on the windowsill and thought about what I would say.

The colours have melted into one another now,
coral reds and blue purples, the jewelry of infectious yellow card stock,
the ink's faded in the sun's light.

I haven’t decided what to say, and the price of stamps goes up all the time, so I’ve decided that I should leave them all alone after all.