My stomach starts to churn,
it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you
and your letter burns
with an aching that quickly forms swells
in the corner of my eye;
I know this feeling all too well.
My hand reaches for the source
of the pounding, yet I question myself:
Why did I stop this river from flowing?
Responses form that would never greet
your ears, and never leave my lips.
I toss the letter, abandon the flame
that begs for ignition, and
dry my face.
