32. Stretching my fingers on my desk

How are you
holding up?

These last days
could have been
better
but
you know me
I never
complain

Took a few
bitter gulps
and carried on

Not eveything
has been bad
though
I wish
I could share
these with you
like we used to

But
since I can't

I just
write
letters in the sand
hoping
the waves
would take them
back to your shore

I miss
your bourgeois
manners
and your
cinnamon
skin

I wonder
if in your hair
that gorgeous bun
is still gracefully
hanging on

like I do
to you