today i pried open my glued-shut desk drawer
and unearthed a dusty six-year-old letter comprised of your sentiments
with acquiescence, i read
you are perfect, you scrawled in blue ink
but sometimes you come to me with questions i cannot answer.
you stump me, you really stump me.
a year has passed since we talked last and
our sisterhood has morphed into an echo
i can no longer recognize, but i must ask you one last question:
do you miss me too?















