the long letter that i just wrote
by hand,
on a clean
sheet of white paper.
i've read it over
a dozen times,
but have no intention of
mailing it out.
i can't decide if it's too harsh,
or too kind.
i toss
the ball of paper across
the room
to the trash can
where it sinks into middle,
with perfect aim,
swish,
onto a hundred
other balled
letters never mailed.
i'm getting good at this.
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