STOP writing me postcards

your postcards are a contradiction, a

confusion between love or like or in-between

when someone's fallen and mis-

interprets returned feelings

your postcards could say 'i love you, i

miss you, these are my hands writing

to you, touching you across this

distance, which is the only thing separating

me from you, we feel the same.'

but

your postcards only say 'i love you, just

not enough to be where you are. not

enough to be in your life, what i want

is far from you, far from your desires and

our feelings and hands do not meet,

so here is a postcard of polite i'm sorrys.'

you send a postcard and spend a moment

thinking of me like a duty to check off

and here i am holding the paper

reading to determine if it is an 'i love

you and' or an 'i love you but'.

when i already know your postcards

are made of paper, not the pulse your

hand pressed against it while writing, you

are not sending me your heart though i

do i would i will, the ink i imagine is your

voice in liquid, but if you wanted it that way

you would have called so i could feel you

breathe through the phone, feel alive when

you say hi and feel my stomach sink after

the phone clicks off. but here is a slice of

dead tree in my hands with your name signed

like a restaurant check, you are the type to

never leave tips

tip me off this then, when your body is

gone, where is your heart? with mine or

flying place to place? do you have one?

because a postcard says too many things to

interpret. there are always words in between

the ones people say. that is the difference between

hi, hey, hello. bye, later, goodbye.

what do you say when you send me a card

from the first door off the airplane, a card with

a picture of the places you see out your

hotel window? don't tell me 'i'm good, work is

good'. tell me what you feel when you're alone

with that pen and paper. does the hotel bed

feel like home. who do you imagine filling

the empty space?

if the only thing filling the empty space

between you and i is a postcard, send me

themed shot glasses too. and landmark

tshirts and plastic keychains and airplane peanuts.

will you waste your money in gift shops until you think

of me at all?

no let me show you what i mean.

bring me the shirt you slept in, the

coffee cup your mouth touched, the pillow your arms held

the phone on your cheek, the rain that ran through your hair

the light that falls on your face in the morning.

send those in the postcard

i want to ask them what it's like.