To the Forgotten Lover

i know i have
not written
or sent any post cards
and needless to say
you won't suspect
this letter.
i want you to know
that it's not memories

of the look in your eyes
when you find the
pale gray bird
on the missing piece,
(of a jigsaw puzzle that
was long forgotten)
and finally completes
the picture,

or the stain on
the rug from your
smashed mug of
coffee that has
been there long
enough to seem
it made with
the dark splosh,

or the scar
that crisses and crosses
along my thigh
to remind me
we never did make
it to the finish line
that summer,

that is making me write to you.
i do not love you anymore.
and for that i am writing
to make it known,
that without hesitation,
when asked what the word
admiration is, i still
think of that summer when

we spent hours
laying on your parents
floor, picking and plucking
cardboard up to build
what would teach me
how you never stopped
trying to understand,
even when you didn't
have all the pieces,

and when i didn't
get accepted to
the school of my choice,
fell to the floor
and said three
burning words,
you dropped that little green
mug to pull me back up,

and the hours of
running across the
city together when
we crashed our
bikes and help
give me strength
to remember to
let go if your
heart isn't in it.