Dear Editor:
I used to love someone a lot.
We often quarreled, and I’m not sure
if he’s forgotten me or not;
he hardly calls me any more.
He’s going to pieces, I’m afraid,
but I still love him. Too much was done
for him to pass it up – as great
a sacrifice as anyone
has ever made. I want to have
his love again and help him live;
and if his love is gone, to save
him from this death – even forgive.
It isn’t right to sign this note
by name. But if, some day, I
should come into your office, there
are strange scars you’d know me by:
on the hands; and just below the hair
a wreath of crimson wounds shows through,
made by – would you believe it? –
thorns. Please tell me what to do.
Hopeful.
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