I write to you
No more

When you are still
Just who you are
And the night chills
Me from your far

I think of you
Just barely

Like a book, ill-gotten,
Neither finished
Nor forgotten
A memory diminished
But not vanished.

I speak to you
In silence.

The faded ember
Has burned my hands
The scars remember
The heart understands
What memory wonโ€™t render.

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