Wait

I am waiting for your letter,
just so I can run my finger
over the stamp that you placed
carelessly and smell your
words up close, words you
wrote, words you never said.
In my mind you have become
something you never were,
and I am afraid you are a better
man to my mind that you ever were.
It's funny, Shams, what has happened.
You're laughing at me and my
dramatic way of taking a hit
on the side of the head,
or a quick knife in my ribs.
Shams, stop it, stop it, stop it.
You're right that I need to stop
this moping about over a boy,
and hiding like I will never get over him.
Oh, Shams, I just want him to
send me that letter and love me again.
He was illiterate in love anyway,
what could his stupid letter have
possibly said to capture my heart.
I should have run like hell when he
first made his case, instead
of finding all kinds of justifications
and using my mildness, my gentleness,
to force myself to make his excuses
for a half lived life.
I did it so well, I believed them myself.
I convinced myself that he
could be something he was not,
the right man for me.