in correspondence

the letters we wrote, so many, many words. our lives, day by day, replayed for each other in each other's days. i re-read them now, somewhere and someone else, re-read our promises and plans and wonder where they've gone, if they're waiting around to be claimed again. our loves, our dinner plans and illnesses, the wonderment of watermelons and worms, one christmas after another, autumn following summer around, wagging tails and raising our sails. let's go let's go let's go. there were holidays abroad and home, together and apart. many long silences as we found others and lost them, then another letter would arrive, digital but there nevertheless. pages and pages, i've kept your side of our conversations, i wonder where mine are. you've found another, kept another, so please write and tell me if i'm still bound to cook you breakfast on your ninetieth birthday because when that day arrives, i'm not sure if you'll be looking out your window, waiting to collect your dues.