i already know i shouldn’t be writing these poems about you anymore. if it’s any consolation, they’re more about me than they are about you (in other words: it’s not you, it’s me). the only reason i’m letting myself write them now is so i can finally write about all the worthwhile things that disappeared when you sent them off to sail the foggy, forbidden sea. despite the best of your efforts, the ship found its way back to me & i’ve realized there is so much more to my existence than the memory of a man who would love to see me drown in search of happiness without him. - the letter i never
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