Letter for the Longest Night

Morning came bearing good news.
The olive forest wrote back,
This time with an address.
It’s been one hundred years,
And I didn’t find any solitude.

I tossed and turned through time.
I made very little attempt to live.
I mourned very little for me.
I filled my lungs with golden despair.
And that wasn’t fair.
But what is?

But now…
Now I know where the olive forest lives.
In P.S. the letter said,
P.S. And there is solitude so titanic you can’t miss.

See, I am content.
Though I mourned very little and despaired a lot,
Now in my bookshelf, on the upper right,
There will be the address, always, for my longest night.

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