I wrote you a letter in blue ink.
It sits under my mattress,
between the pages of a Wallace and Gromit annual.
The tones and subjects clash rather.
I imagine them fighting it out,
like all the thoughts did,
round and round my head, conflicting with each other.
I think Wallace and Gromit won.
I'll hand the letter to your sister.
Then she can hand it over to you.
Then you can read it and argue it and throw it away.
I'll sleep on it tonight.