The Letter

A folded letter waits for me on the table.   It’s addressed, unnecessarily, to me.   No one else will find it, I live alone now.   Her hands made those black marks, which breaks my heart again.   I love that inner pain.   Pain saves me.   Memories make my scars burn.   The letter is my life support.   Reminding me the razors failed to do their fatal work.   I love her for that.