I Let You

You have my letter
If not still physically
for years are not kind to material things,
but possessed in your mind,
most importantly.

It exists in mine not word for word
but feeling to feeling.
You were ment to keep it.
A gift. Armour.

I did not speak it; I could not say it all.
It was for you to keep knowing that something was amiss, a plan, a
premonition
I do not like to acknowledge.
A silk shirt for your protection, for consulation, for
permission.
Praying that the arrows to come would not pierce you fatally.

I spoke my premonition and laid it on the table before you, over salad
and soup.
Do you remember?
It developed from observations, hearing, adding and subtracting,
reading and touching.

The letter is yours.
It says I care.
It says I know this is hard.
It says I will support you.
It says I will not allow anyone to hurt you.
It says I know you are sorry.
It says I forgive you.

It says I love you.

Please, believe me.