Letters I meant to send

letters I always meant to send to other people and myself.

My love, I am so sorry. Maybe this is my first time, or maybe we always feel this must be the first time we have fallen over our doubt and into ourselves. Like this could be our first pair of eyes setting sight on a new day that actually feels new. I am trying always, in all ways and hallways on late nights and mornings when you went home half drunk and I said 'I told you so' / all hands and good intentions and coconut water in a white borrowed mug. I try to see you clearly and know what you need, in spite of what you say it is. In the wake of me, sick of my voice having to remind you that most of the things you want for are the things that are slowly binding you to the illusion of consistency.

I am trying not to be a cage for you, for you my love - are the bird that had no wings, grew wings, broke wings on the skies habitual process of moving on without waiting for goodbye or other sentiments. You are flightless and still you follow fear over valleys edge; to greener grass onto a heaven gone but still remembered by someone who's name we both forgot.

Long ago, that hotel / morning song like bath mats wet and hanging in the light.

My love I am trying to learn to be like you; to not be dragged down

bound down to earth song too thick for throats of any soaring vessel.

I will always be trying not to be a cage for you.