Lost and Searching

Writing to You: Ghosts of What Never Was

Do you ever spare a thought,
For the one you forgot,
Your misbegot?

Do I cross your mind,
With a thought unkind,
Or am I left behind?

But I know I do not,
For in everything I sought,
I knew it was all for naught.

Because I can see,
That it’s not me,
And we will never be.

No matter what I do,
Nor how much good I sew,
It is not enough for you.

I want to stop writing to you, or you, or even you. It’s pathetic at this point. There’s nothing but pain and sadness in the words I can give to you, for that is all you’ve given me.

I want to write to Her. I know there is something happy to write about there. Even if she turns out to be you, there will be a period of happy things to write. I expect to die alone, so I very much look forward to those brief times when you are Her, even though I die each time She becomes you.

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