Dear,…

The wind whispered a name I thought I forgot how to write.

It echoes against the walls that may no longer be looked at the same way.

Dear Mr. Cipher tell me, how does something in you still hold the same weight? Like a constant in an author’s world that’s been rewritten too many times.

It may seem like this pen hasn't bled since the last letter you read.

Truth is, it did. Quietly, sir, in silences between lines, in drafts that never reached paper. Everything around  has shifted. The seasons write in a new language now, the light falls differently on the floor,

people speak, but the words don't sit the way they used to.

Rather, they shake. And yet, they demanded reaching for you .. "He makes it all feel strangely familiar.." my pen confessed. 

Like the scent of an old book in a new city.I don’t know what It came here to say. 

Perhaps nothing.Perhaps to remind that this version of the world, with all its edits and ellipses,still bookmarks something...

Something that feels like you and nothing like you at all.

Yours truly,

~Sp