Epistle

It’s painful to read our correspondence.
I see who we were
for that short time
and I wish
I were back there
– then –
and you were with me
and we were doing the things we used to
like writing each other
and trying to be together
before we found a way
and then found
it wasn’t worth it.

I read back on those few short notes
we wrote to one another
back then
where
we were honest with each other
but not with ourselves.

We thought our path was destined
and it was
– but it was a different path.

I don’t like to look over
those truths we shared
that soon became lies.

I do not enjoy it
but I return to them
too many times.

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