There is a letter I can't write.
There is a letter you will never get.
It's unnecessary because we both know what it would say.
It has been years but we both want to read it anyways.
I know you want to write it. I know you think about it.
I know you too well. I'll stop saying that when you prove me wrong.
The lines of self-defense.
The wounded forms appear:
The loss, the full extent;
And simple kindness here,
The solitude of strength.
He said, I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile.
My loss, and here we go again