I wrote a letter for you today. But it’s okay – no need to worry – I threw it away.
Inside, I wrote of all these things I feel for/about you. But you could probably see through
my soul. See, I don’t feel (the same) right – sick in a sense; lonely in another. (I need my mother.)
I want you to come back now/soon/never. Until then, I will stare at my reflection in this spoon.
We have so much we need to talk about. But it’s okay – no need to worry – there’s nothing to really say.