my own version

dear you,
this used to be a love letter, before its hunches thickened, its breath grew short, before it found itself sitting, perplexed, and a little embarrassed, inside a parked black car, while everyone was busy cramming for their next exams. it remembers itself dressing as if for a great engagement, choosing the most beautiful shoes, red or black. once, it drank beer for breakfast, rested its feet on a bunk bed side by side with the feet of another. once, it felt sadness, then eventually grew brokenness, dropping the head so the hair would fall forward, so the weeping eyes could not be seen. it was lovely then, this letter. what it knew in the morning, it still believed at night. yet the longing has not diminished. still, it understands. however, if disquieted by the pure and unfamiliar silence of new life; yes, it decides.