I am writing this alive and with a fever, br 'cause I needs to sweat out the virus br and breathe calmly without choking, for once. br br I am writing this and hoping that its meaning, br my meaning, THE meaning br will mean something to you now. br br That's why all poets and madmen br scrape together enough bitterness br to address their anti-love-letters to ' you'- br as though the reader, any random lover, br is the one intended to be pinpointed, blacklisted then destroyed. br You know them, the ones always crying, br asking for spare sense to make change... br ' I didn't see this coming' br br It's so sad how some people br are just innocent bystanders br reading the morning newspaper- br when they just happen to look up to see br reality smacking them upside the head. br br 'you've got the wrong man' br only because they right man's dead. br br So, I won't say I love you 'cause br those words mean more than something now- br and I won't say I miss you 'cause br it gets lost in translation. br br br But if I know you like I think I knew you, br you'll be reading between the lines right about now, br sipping your morning coffee and thinking br of something far more important than the sound of my voice. br br But I know you'll read this 'cause br there are a million other fish in the sea br and everyone of them are titled ' you' br and they act and look just like 'you' br br I hope you don't mind br I can't quite bring myself to address this to your name.