I owe you a letter.
At this point
I probably owe you a dozen letters
but it is hard
to come up with the right words to say.
We used to be so close,
so close that
letters would be pointless between us.
We knew the content that would have filled reams
had we bothered to script it out.

You know this as well as I do.
Why would I bother
telling you what is plain on your face
when you’ve got already got a mirror?
And why should I trouble you
with my day-to-day,
my trivial,
my indifferent information,
even if you feign interest?
What could I possibly tell you
in a letter
that is worth saying when,
at this point,
we are simply not that close?

What is there to do
but pick up the pen
and strive to get words to you
somehow
even though
there is little to say
and too long since I’ve said it?

I owe you a dozen letters
and I swear
I’ll get one to you
eventually.