The Letter

The letter said:
Hello, how are you?
I haven't been drowning
in fact, I've been flying.
I'm writing in lieu
of the fact that I
wish you were dead
and I'd kill myself if your face
were to grace the space
of my mind
one more time.

The only respite
I can find at night
is through burning your pictures
and clinging too tightly
to the thought of never having
to call your house again
or lean against your arm
in bed to keep warm.
Thinking to myself
how much better it is
that I never got around
to giving more than I did.

But the postscript said:
I miss you
and I hate myself for that.

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