I find myself sitting here and thinking
about the last letter I ever wrote to you.
And I sulk in this guilt, because I know that
I never said everything you needed to hear.
I never let you know that it became a ritual
to kiss each letter before sealing it up
and sending it off for its departure.
I never owned up to the fear that you
might someday lose that spark in your eyes
whenever you’d say you thought about me.
I never admitted to feeling rapidly jealous
when someone would try to look at you
the way I always promised to.
I never mentioned the oath that I made
to keep you safe, regardless of the terrible
words we exchanged the night before.
&
I never recalled how badly my arms ached,
as they impatiently awaited your return.
But I won’t be sending this one your way.
Because we both know that nothing else
could possibly make you stay.