Everyone has been told that I forgive you;
That I can’t blame you and I understand.
While I might discount every bad thing that
our friends say about you,
I judge them for holding it in.
I judge them for criticizing you as if they
know you better.
My lamp shines through stained glass,
The same hue of your late June sunburns are
on my walls.
The wicks of the candles you lit in my room
are nearing nothing.
I lost the record you liked me playing.
I understand it all better now.
You are capable of everything you fear.
Intimacy is not a virtue you’ve ever resided in
but while you did;
You appreciated everything a bit more
delicately.
You applauded my sonder and prayed at the
edge of your bed.
To say I understand completely is egoistical;
I am aware. Of course I am aware.
Sunset hits through the window that faces
your house,
The sugar and cream portions in your coffees
are never the same as the morning before,
And I keep forgiving the little boy in you.
I am catastrophically aware of all you have left
me with.
She Wrote To You 
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