I write the last letter to you,you whom I have never met.Yet each time I wrote these letters,you were the one sitting beside me.Listening to this song,you are probably thinking of me.
Now I take the letters out of the drawer:words I never once managed to send.I pile them by the window,and the wind pushes them away one by one.They catch on the wire fence at the end of the yardand flutter there.
Mother, first love, friend, grandmother, strangers:all the names I could not hold.I read those names aloud one by one.No one answers.I had bought stamps,but the glue dried out in the drawer.
I put the last sheet into an empty envelope.On it I write, To you,and leave the address line blank.I stand the envelope on the window frameand take out the next page again.