Oh, Joe!

Don't write me anymore perfidious letters. I have read what you held in the boxes that you putet inside the house, first day you came.
What kind of a fire they held, that burned you for so long?

I know you miss the non dimmed Lorna. But, now you have no idea in who I have become. (You should have bothered to read me in the strings I wrote you.)
More selfish became when you left with the wind and stole my silence.
So angry with me?
With hate you flounder me on the ground, when you find the coldness to leave?

The air has been solid when you were near me and list the free spots in your train. Now the air is consumed.
Where ever I put my eyes, I only see blue horizons in my wrists.

I can't forgive you Joe.
I will write you again...