My soul breathes in your envelopes

I write letters to you as if you existed.

It is as if there is a street of Foolish Poets, and as if there is a mailbox at number 39, it has no name.

It’s just like I see him and I push myself into him.

I’m writing you letters. I love you in them.

I know, you haven’t even been born, or drank breast milk, or attended school.

That’s why you don’t answer me.

You can’t write. Not even reading.

…You don’t exist.

I write letters to you, you are beautiful in them, high forehead, red lips.

I give you my name and stick it on the door that I bang on like crazy every night.

I’m writing you letters and put on stamps. They may seem valuable to you,

when they reach your hands, some 2197.

Maybe you are born then. Maybe.

I am writing to let you know that I have been searching for you for centuries and that I will never stop,

as long as your voice calls me.

And you are calling me…. and if you have not yet settled, you have put my ring on my right hand long ago.

You will recognize him, shining in the dark, just like my eyes.

I’m writing you letters,

to know that I am yours forever.

And that when my body is taken away,

at least my soul stays,

breathe in your envelopes.

9 thoughts on “My soul breathes in your envelopes”

  1. Hey. I absolutely love this, because when I am saying goodbye to either a friend that is no longer a friend or something bad happens, I write a letter to them and then put it into my drawer. Thanks for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Such a beautiful melancholic feel to this! Love this so much! I often write letters and keep them as a way to get my thoughts and feelings down without actually telling the person. 💗

    Liked by 1 person

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