I wrote some words
for you
to you
about you.
It took shape as
a confession,
me baring my soul,
all my inner thoughts
laid out,
ink on paper
for you to read.
I imagined your tears
staining the patterns
of letters,
smudging the words into something
I didn't want to write.
This letter revealed a message
of hope and fear,
love and lust,
desire and loathing.
But alas, you might only read
what you want to believe
as truth, denying me the chance
to exist in your life.
Yet I continue to write,
risking my own expectation of
fulfillment.
But I negate the risk of
heartbreak,
for I will never show you
this letter.
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