Writing Therapy

I recall that old typewriter
smell of the ribbon
clacking of the type bars
rough texture of the keys
the feed roller would spin
moving paper upward
with every line laid down
a wish hoping you'd come back
I'd hit that return lever
imaging a response
admiting it was unlikely
my letters were never mailed
like a theraputic treadmill
that device never let me down
not the way you did
yet, it sits in the attic
like an abandoned child
the only thing of yours I had
I remember that obsolete machine
more than I remember you