Dyslexia

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I open my eyes lazily.
A small amount sigh escapes my lungs.
I get up, and search through my things.
In a small box, a folded letter lies there,  safe and sound.
I unfold it and tightly hold it.
The ink is faded, just like the face of its writer, just like the memories of its owner.
I'm dyslexic,
The words I'm reading don't make sense to me.
But I read them over and over until they do.
I read them over and over and over until the words are legible again.
I read them,
To make sure that they're true.
Because up until last night, II still think of you.
And I wonder,
Do I cross your mind at all?

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