If you
ask me "Why don't you
write to me,
anymore?" I
don't have an answer. It's not
that I have nothing to say
though nothing exciting happens in any case.
But every time
I attempt to reach you,
the wor(l)ds slip out
from under my tongue
and my hands are too slow to catch them
and they say silence speaks on its own but
in truth
sometimes silence itself doesn't speak at all.
Why don't I write to you anymore?
I guess
I don't know at all.
It might be because underneath it all
I know I have changed too much
and no amount of words will turn me
back
to what I was.
