For three years I debated,
shifted mind and tried,
so I wrote the letter.
Precision of word clarified my ramblings, it was done.
Finality on paper,
my signature binding me to my word.
No more a whirlwind of thought drifting at terminal speed,
the letter said it all
in just one page, two hundred words.
there ‘till rot creeps in
On the envelope I write her name. But the letter is mine.
Unforgotten, but laid to rest,
the encased letter lays in it’s paper tomb.
Seven letters spell h-e-r,
but I own these words, they are my creation.
Ownership not for sale,
no paper torn ash will fall here.
She cannot read my letter.
Her name is
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