Letters

Letters I write you all the time. I don't mail them... my letters, my words... anymore. They came back for a while, so I stopped. I thought there was, no reason left, to send my expressions of earnest emotions somewhere, anywhere... they would never reach you. But how else can I attempt to bring you back, to me. How else can I express, how much I miss you, and need you, and want you... in my life. You changed your address or simply stopped responding. I can live this way, as long as I know... you are okay. But to believe, you are lost, makes me want to try harder, to find you and keep you safe... from harm. The world will not let me, be... with you, as you... don't want to be... with me. I demand too much. I make you try hard. I don't let you give up. That makes me... mean. Or so it would seem.