not about you,
but about someone else,
on a piece of paper,
then torn and crumbled,
but later reconstructed by you
to reveal what I scribbled,
illegible and unreadable,
but meaningful to me,
a recollection
seeming real in my mind,
but fabricated differently
in your beyond broken mind
hoping for a miracle cure,
but twisted up in knots
by jealousy and hatred.