Crease.

I’ve memorised the contents of your letter.
The parts where you forgot to dot the I’s.
The lack of punctuation. The struggle to make sentences out of your emotions.
But I understood, beyond language, albeit your idiosyncrasies. How could I not have?
With the letter in my hand, and the words embedded permanently. I’m reading what isn’t there.

Each crease has a story, the tiny folds mouthing words.
Words that i cannot comprehend, cannot grasp at, do not know. But in the permeating white. I know of you.
This letter tells me everything.
This part here, that’s where you held the paper too tightly. This water logged edge, you spilled your coffee.
You're doing what you promised you wouldn't.

If time shifted to that first instance.
I walked slowly. You walked fast.
And there, we met.
And now. this barrier.
We're both walking fast, in different directions.
Hoping we could forget what we held so close. But knowing it won't ever work out.


Other boys they'd tell me
You aren't common. I hardly ever know what you're talking about. That song it ain't right

But you were different.
We were eccentrics. Under different canopy's.
Bike riding at noon, walking in the moonlight.
The gleam, the sparkle. The shadows that were never born.


This letter.
Parched.
I'm undecided, unconvinced.
You're
indecisive, half adamanant.

We are too alike.