for the first time, I wished he didn't exist. wished he wasn't. wished him away instead of near. farther even than this wide raging sea, this past, this rhymeless ignorance of thinrteen hundred miles. for the first time, he needn't be, nay, he shouldn't come any closer, he shouldn't want any words, he shouldn't track down the bears for me. like this back pain, he shouldn't be. un-loves never bothered me, it was always the real ones that gripped up my spine and it hurt so much i couldn't breathe. you haven't hurt this much, you haven't been through me as an arrow, you haven't cut me open and served my liver to the thieves, ever. and it never bothered me to want to remmember you and embrace the thoughts of you, and have you as an old un-longing, as a simple un-love that never showed up on shore, and it was always okay to write letters. but today, not for more feeling but for less, i need not the place i've been before, i need not the role of recipient, nor the writer with my quilt, i want not the bond of ages, nor the unsure delicate friendship. for the first time in years, i wished you had never been.

mark those notes return to sender,
 I'm not there.