Пишу Тебе

Dear you, I hope you're doing fine. I'm sitting here with cheap mulled wine. The pen is hovering above the page. I feel like an actor on a stage. I wrote three lines and crossed them out. Filled with ink and filled with doubt. I'll put it in the envelope and seal it Tight, but I won't walk to the box tonight. It's safer here inside my drawer than knocking on Your wooden door. Unsent words are the heaviest kind. They weigh upon the tired mind. I wonder if you think of me when you Are trimming up your tree. Probably not, and that's okay. I wouldn't know what to say anyway. I miss you, look so weak and blue. I'm sorry isn't even true. I'll put it in the envelope and seal it Tight, but I won't walk to the box tonight. It's safer here inside my drawer than knocking on Your wooden door. Unsent words are the heaviest kind. They weigh upon the tired mind. Maybe next year. Maybe never.