Shreds

I am surrounded by scraps of blank paper

None of them whole

None belonging to a binding

Scattered like leaves on the floor

I hold a pencil in my hand

It is a nub in my numb fingers

I shake to write 

This paper is so precious

It is all I have left to communicate

A million thoughts fly around in my head

They all stop when I try to express them

Precious paper

Precious pencil

I begin writing

Dear

My Dear

To my Dear

To my Dearest

Friend

My Friend

To my Friend

Nothing is right.

I am trying to reply to a thank you note

I don't know what gift I gave

Or If I even gave one.

Leaded lids lower over my eyes

Distance and silence mock me

I am awake because I am curious

I care.

Thank you for what?

It's like my mind knows where to look, I always see a message in white on black, just after it is painted after not speaking to the artist for too long a time.