I wrote
then paused,
ball pen hovering—
the words too bare.
They sat
on yellow sheets,
unsealed and unsent
in little brown envelopes.
A line
meant for truth,
one for letting go,
another for quiet peace.
I wrote
“I miss you,”
maybe even “I love you,”
then crossed half the page.
Sometimes
I read through
the unsaid in my heart,
and almost sent a word.
Your name—
blue, unfading
crawl the old sheets,
but my voice never...
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