You send back my letters. “Return to sender” was on your birthday package when it came back. You won’t see me and hang up if I call. You want nothing to do with me. Losing you profoundly changed me. I’m not the same. Wish you could see it. B.D.

If enduring pain,
braving shame,
despising one’s self
for the sake of affection
and accepting misery
without question
is the definition of love
– then, I LOVE YOU.