I write dozens of letters on parchment of patience and bind them together with coils of confession, making tiny bolts of heartstring fabric.
I pack them in bamboo boxes filled with pretty paper cranes. Each package sealed with the wax of weal, and labeled in my spidery handwriting, "Fragile"

I mail them to an address that doesn't exist.
I wait for a response that may never come.
Hundreds of letters, all filed into a trash bin labeled "Unable to deliver-- do not return to sender".
Lost to silent emptiness forever.

I'll never know the difference.

10:45 p.m. - 2015-04-21