I know not your name or your face

Nor you mine beyond the words on a page

Yet

it is my hope that one day

you might call me a friend,

an enemy,

your sister,

and even your lover.

I want these words,

letters strung together,

to mean something.

Anything.

Is it wrong?

To hope

that some one may

love me,

hate me,

feel for me?

For the things I write?