2-24-18

Me and a letter.

Me and a letter I'm refusing to open.

We sit side by side,

and say nothing;

not even a whisper.

There's much to say,

but the closet door in the front of me seems more interesting.

I turned it over so I won't see my name;

maybe it's not really to me.

Rather it be for future me,

or the fire.

I'm kneeling next to it now.

I don't even want to pick it up.

I don't think I will.

My arm shakes,

and my stomach knows why.

I think I'll leave it here on my sheets,

 and when I make my bed it will sit on a blanket.

Even with the stains on it from transportation,

it's the whitest and brightest thing on this bed.

We stare at eachother,

but I'm the only one with the look of desperation.