its 3am
and im here sat
on a bench outside
the wind and rain
collide
with my cold skin
the letter
i had written
in the so distant past
lies soggy
on my lap
the words weeping
weeping for me.
weeping,
as they should have
lied next to you
unscathed by
the damage of time
your room its sanctuary
your eyes its believer
your reply its purpose
i lie on the bench
wishing for a reply
be it fast, or otherwise
maybe the rain
will carry it
into your lap
or maybe it is doomed
here, on this bench
to be forever
forgotten.