i got a million things

a thousand letters smeared with ink:
one hundred mailed, to various locations across Eastern Europe;
seven hundred donated to a middle-aged Spaniard doing a project on human language and its vagaries;
one hundred ninety-nine flung into the air like feathered deformities.

One letter,
smeared on the last line in purple ink-
crumpled,
slammed on the desk in a fit of incompetence,
and flung over a warm shoulder into the latticed metal trash can beyond.

seven days.
one letter,
guarded by the latticed metal trash can.

two cramped fingers,
one pen,
and zero miles closer to telling you what I needed to.

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