Dear Catherine,

Hope is a four-letter word
That only gets worse as you progress.
We can live in a house without any mirrors
And be beautiful anytime we want,
But when there is something uncertain
In your carefully guarded breath,
I know that you’re trying not to think
Of what is really going on with your hands.

Catherine of Crumbling Cities that seem more stable,
Of the smell of smoke, fresh and delicious, that eats us up whole,
There will be seconds stuck as a knife in your skin when you know
You can’t forget stolen ideas, like a box of letters not sent.

And it is then you will finally understand
Hope is a four-letter word that may never work out.
But if you know instead,
Know like a wig won’t hide you,
Then you will have a chance.
I know I love you, you do as well.