And all the letters I
would write you
fall
into the cracks of
my mind,
disappearing at
the first word.

What would I say? I am a
fragile, fearful thing.
And you are
not
who I thought.

I believe it's better
this way,
but
still,
I find myself
penning, over and
over, one word
before the
pages slip away.
One word:
"Why?"