as if anyone writes letters anymore anyway

You said you’d write—but don’t think I expect
a single word. I found two hairs today,
and knew they must be yours. So you will stay
in some small part with me. Let’s not subject
ourselves to any pretense with respect
to what this was. You’ve left and gone your way
and I’ll go mine in time. What’s left to say?
Except, you left my ruined heart a wreck.

But I knew all the dangers, and I still
said yes to you, and you said you said yes to me.
You knew that I was broken, sad, and ill,
and I knew that you weren’t exactly… free.
I’ll want to write, but don’t think that I will.
What’s left to say? Except, don’t write to me.

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