I'm sending this letter through time to you
Into the future a day or two
By the time you read it I won't be gone
And I won't be any less awkward or withdrawn

In the interim I'll try not to reveal
The handwritten admissions herein concealed
But if I let them slip it's not really a big deal
I'm sure that you're already well aware of your appeal

How long have you lived next door?
I don't even remember who lived there before
These days I don't get out much and so
You're basically the only person I know

In the interim I'll try not to reveal
The handwritten admissions herein concealed
But if I let them slip it's not really a big deal
Because they don't convey a tenth of what I feel

Slow-motion conversation, invitations not received
Unsurprising revelations, paid vacation, taking leave
Am I making progress any time I'm feigning sleep?
Inching closer to some kind of consummation dark and deep?