It is windy here today and supposedly warm, but I still have my hood up and a blanket in my lap. I was thinking about you and your therapy and how it would be if I could hold your hand.
The leaves are waving wildly and they seem so cheerful that I thought about writing a cheerful poem back at them, but I ended up writing you again. I know you are avoiding your messages! But somehow I sit and get to thinking about you and the joy of the internet is I can talk at you and you don't have to say anything back.
I wish I could climb in the car and start driving in your direction. I read new poets and wish I was reading them to you. You are a lonely bird who has forgotten how to fly, or maybe you just wonder if my voice would sound the same against your ear as it sounds on the phone. Maybe I wouldn't know what to say and you wouldn't know where to look. I would give you my favourite blanket and we would laugh when you dropped ash on it from your cigarette. I would bum a smoke. I would let you