I wrote you a four-page letter the other night,
but when the chance came I didn't give it to you.
When I wrote it, I thought I said it all,
that I had it all figured out.
I thought there would be no gray area.
As I read it now, the letter is nothing
BUT gray area
coagulating in one spot,
spelling out confusion.
I pulled out the blue lighter
you left in my car;
blue is my favorite color
and you don't smoke now.
I let the flame dance a little within my view
until it turns the gray matter between us
into ashes.
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