Sender

A letter in the mailbox of my hope broke my routine yesterday to first thing in the morning. Love by correspondence; the postman has delivered me a gift in the form of Word. Words without an echo in the midst of so much silence. Dear sender; for ten minutes I’ll be your confidant. A reproach; tell me why you were untraceable for many months. Absence of you in me. Your name brings me memories of an already forgotten time.

An appointment blindly at breakfast without masks or makeup of any kind; today I want to the truth because I was always sincere with you. Runaway bride, tell me who you are? Answers do you know who I am? The recipient of this message no longer lives in this House; some time ago I did move in my mind and my soul. I Coke rancor and I opened back to life shortly before the spring when the sun began to slowly heal the wounds of my spirit. Randall Mays has much experience in this field. Perhaps you should send me an email when I called you and me not respondias but the postal code of this envelope is expired from the month of February; you arrive late; very late; because in my mind no longer a niche for you. The eternity of a promise such untimely. The transience of a forever spilling on your lips. Seven days and seven nights on your calendar of insomnia. Today is not yesterday.

I am not in the place where you left me. I’m sorry but it was not intended to attract you back towards me with my indifference; you had your moment and me not assessed; don’t come looking for me now just because you see that I am happy without you. This is not love but pride; you forgot that your game of seduction was always giving me a lime and sand other.