by Rachel Whiteside
Although you are a friend of mine,
and letters we exchange.
I wouldn't know you on the street,
and doesn't that seem strange?
hold a place within my heart,
unusual and unique;
We share ideals and special dreams,
and still, we do not speak.
I picture who I think you
perhaps you picture me.
An intriguing game for both of us,
for someone we cannot see.
So for this friendship we possess,
we owe this
mail a debt.
Perhaps the charm lies in the fact,
that we have never met.