I want you to promise we'll see each other again, you'll send a letter. Promise we'll be lost together in our forest, pale birches of our legs. I hear your voice now-I know, everyone knows promises come from fear. People don't live past each other, you're always here with me. Sometimes I pretend you're in the other room until it rains… and then this is the letter I always write...
( Anne Michaels )
[ Poems: The Weight of Oranges, ]
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