About the you I sometimes write about

Sometimes it feels like

I write for someone,

A specific person

The 'you' in the poems

But there isn't a you,

There isn't anyone

Just my imagination

And letters, words I love

Fragments of my life

You will find

Promises made,

Promises broken

They go down as words

On a blog that is my sanctuary

The words are selfish

But so are people

Don't assume

My heart is broken

When I write about love

Long lost

Don't assume

My strings are uncut

When I write about life,

Happiness and joy

The poems,

Take it as they are

Don't give the people faces

Or the memories dates

They are real and they are not

And only I know

You too, maybe

But I doubt you remember