An unsent card –
dancing ballerina –
memories of moments shared.
I don’t know what to do with them all.
Currently they reside in a neat pile
next to pink leather.
Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like
to be heartless.
Without the inclination to keep happy – Summer windswept bits.
But if I was, would I be the same?
In the place of warmth
Cool and controlled.
In the next life?