All my messages in bottles
are addressed to you.
I daren’t send a one.
I shouldn’t send a one.
You won’t reply.
If I could hope that you would,
I’d fall into a pit of my own making,
Sticky with old regrets and hopes gone wrong.
I know better than that bittersweet well-worn road.
But still there are
so many messages in bottles,
and still
all are addressed to you.

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