Love letter # 125

Things understood slowly are all the more dreadful. The creeping dawn. The inescapable conclusion. The fact I got away with it.

It wasn’t you, babe – it was me. I was the screw up. You told me who you were but I pretended you were someone else. I was the deluded one – you were just crazy.

What a fire you were – but that was no excuse. I chose these burns. They were all I had of you.

But I’m here now – and I quite like it.





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