distance (part four)

You were so sweet.

Everything you wrote to me was everything I'd have wanted to hear--
But a long time ago,
And from someone else. (Who that someone was, I've forgotten, but even from the one I want now, I don't think I'd want sweet-smelling flower petals falling from his mouth. A garden grew from yours, and your pen. As it so happens, I'm allergic to that kind of pollen.)

There was nothing wrong with you,
Except perhaps the way you arranged your words--in texts or in letters--and the fact that you once ended a letter with this: "Strange, this concept of wuv."
No.

I hope you have found a girl
Who appreciates the single roses you buy for her at random times, just because,
Who is more of a romantic
And less of a cynic
Than I am.

I feel guilt when I think about you,
That's why I had to donate the statue.
Guilt that comes from telling a child bad news,
Not the guilt that comes from taking away something that I owe you--
I owe you nothing. I gave you my apology.
Maybe, one day, I'll give you an honest explanation,
But maybe, one day, you'll find this instead,
And I'll get off easy on that one.

You were so kind.
I did not deserve you.
You deserve other than me.

-Dana Winter