The Letter

Her left hand was empty

Her right palm was covered by a perfectly cut rectangle

A snow-like letter

Whose words started to flee in a royal blue river

Down her thumb

Onto her bedroom floor

Sinking into the polished boards

Never to be seen again

They are wasted, she thought

And yet they are so desperately necessary

As needed as the mourning at a grave

Only he wasn't really dead

Just as far away as the sun

And as cold as the moon

Her nails pressed into the sheet

Leaving ghost crescents for nobody but herself

His lines were like the raging current

And the final was a waterfall

It came without a warning

And pulled her under

Her lungs closed up

And her heart started racing

Her vision was blurred

All she could see was pitch-black in her arctic hole

The day fell into night

And matched her soul

The next morning

Still lying there she folded the letter

And buried it under her dresser

Dirt to dust, she thought

As she rose like a goddess

Catching the sunlight

Like a golden glaze

I am a queen, she thought

And I will not bow before my own misery

He will be at loss

And I have been made wiser for free.

- 04.08.22