After you died, I wrote a love letter

of sixty-five thousand words.

Memories, impressions, sadness and love

fired from my fingers in quick succession

before I lost them too.

 

I imagined the words floating up to you,

sending comfort in your new unknown home,

strengthening bonds that it seemed

we had only just created.

 

Your love flowed back to me

in those words too, revealing our

relationship from different angles,

helping me discover all that

ego and insecurities kept hidden

while you were alive.

 

Through our life together, I gave you

just one handwritten love letter.

I think you’re wonderful.

You said you would keep it forever.

It took your death and sixty-five

thousand words for me to discover

that I would keep it too.