She left me two years ago
distant and cold
she had had enough.
and her absence hangs heavy like
phantom limbs
feeling something is missing.
But she wont answer my calls or letters
in love or in anger-
they’re lying forgotton on her
library floor.
She is scared of putting herself
through being with me like before-
not that I can blame her
she always came in last
forced to feast on scraps
until she had to find her way
to less painful pastures
and build a home from the shambles.
And I hope she is living peacefully
curled up with her books-
notebooks full of poems of
hope and joy
even if mine are bleeding confusion
and pain
and nostalgia so thick,
I can hardly breathe-
scribbling ever this fruitless plea
in these love letters to
who I used to be.

“love letters”- jessicagadziala

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