Yours Truly,

My chest overflowing with letters you sent,
Each envelope haunted by your perfume.
This catharsis — I assume it consumed
The pain but is this merely a figment?

You wrote of darkened days and ghosts at night,
Then begged me, “please, what have I done wrong?
You have been gone for far too long
I’m here for now, but I’m losing the light.”

I thought the darkness was my weakness
But it’s funny how I see clear now.
You did no wrong, It was me all along
And now I’m left haunted, chasing your ghost.

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