My stomach starts to churn, 
it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you 
and your letter burns 
with an aching that quickly forms swells 
in the corner of my eye; 
I know this feeling all too well. 

My hand reaches for the source 
of the pounding, yet I question myself: 
Why did I stop this river from flowing? 
Responses form that would never greet 
your ears, and never leave my lips. 

I toss the letter, abandon the flame 
that begs for ignition, and  
dry my face.