dear person I used to love,
it's me again, you probably remember, I mean
you cut me deep - or I you - and we tend to
memorise how we got our scars the easiest.
why do you reckon that is?
why do I -
this is not about that, not about my memories
or it kinda is, really, but it's not about sword fights
and broken hearts and burned-out bridges and
the feeling of love slipping through your fingers
like sand and digging my toes in at the beach to
try and hold on harder than you ever did and the way
we used to laugh together,
it's about how, and this has nothing to do with you,
but lately I've been sad, and really, it has nothing
to do with you, or anything, it's been a while, don't
worry, it's fine, it's been a whole damn while.
I've been feeling sad, you know, and I've been thinking
of rebuilding bridges that have long since been carried
off to the sea in the form of charred remains and I've
never looked back, and I don't want to now, either,
not really, I don't,
but sadness is a companion that makes it just