There was so much of you I never meant to let in,
and suddenly it was 4AM, and you knew my secrets
even though there was so much I never said,
like I was a novel you found in a dumpster
and read from cover to cover before anyone told you
the pages had blurred to illegibility – the mystery
was solved ahead of time, and you said
my book was good before you knew I had a story.
So Merry Christmas, wherever you are.
I’m still writing.
By Heidi Turner