The Parchment

I found you last night, smudged ink in a wet letter

Letters don’t cry, do they? Perhaps they do, but not like you

This letter cried, hiding you amidst the punctuations

Hiding your tears in its own, hiding your words in its own

The letter was in the attic, buried deep in my eyes

I found it floating around, like a hapless leaf

The attic was flooded, did it cry?

I cried, I remember that, my pillow was complaining

I chased the letter, it had my dreams in it

I don’t dream that well these days, like smudged ink in a wet letter

Letters don’t cry, they don’t

My attic does, so do my eyes, where I found you, by my complaining pillow…