I owe you a letter
I know
but I don’t have anything to say.
Nothing I’m proud of.
Nothing important.

I have no interesting stories
no indicative anecdotes
nothing of note
had happened this week
this month
this millennium.

Things are on a steady course
nothing’s wrong
but
there’s nothing I’m ready to share.
Not today.
Not with you.

I wish I could manufacture fiction for you.
I wish I had it in me.
I don’t.
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me
for letting our correspondence
waste away so.