I used to send you
cute stuff over the mail,
buy apology flowers,
queue on Fridays—
on a whim.

I haven’t changed,
just evolved;
like your magician
you once idolised.

I no longer visit
the post office,
just like your number
feels like a stranger,
or your voice—
I couldn’t recall.

Till death do us part,
except
I made us part.

Different postcodes.
Different years.
Six years.

No more
tears.

Postcode.

People aren't the same in my eyes

anymore

most of them became poems,

something I didn't thought I would write about.