Refraction.

Love, Eve.

I don't think I love you,
Though I might've, once.
I don't know whether you still think of me;
I don't know why it is that I still think of you.
We haven't spoken in a while,
But I understand that your position is precarious,
And I know not whether I pity you
As a gentleman pities a beggar,
Or whether I am Romeo,
Duelling this world just to enter your tomb.
It is not the difference between life and death,
But whether you are granted your freedom
Or remain caged...
My heart may ache beneath your soft betrayal,
But you deserve to be free,
To be loved, to enjoy the world that rests before you,
To return to fatherhood.
Perhaps I am irrelevant, and - as poets do -
Merely sticking my feelings into situations
Where they do not belong,
Yet I worry for you; I feel fear and anguish,
Fury and pride...
I wish that I could see you tonight,
And talk everything through just one last time.
Maybe I miss you, but it matters not whether you miss me:
I want what is best for you,
And that is not me, but nor is it anything I can bring you.
If only there was something I could do,
I promise you that I would.
Love, Eve.