I can not say it directly to you because it still hurts when you are nasty to me. But thank you for following my instructions and returning my book to my letterbox, in a plastic bag, with my name on it.
Why did you take your time? Why could you not return it when I asked?
I am over you, yet you haunt my dreams most nights. You are always the revered in them, and I am left unwanted and unloved by everyone.
Much how I am feeling today. Bad day, I’m going to hide.