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The Letter Never Sent
The pages in your box
were never opened,
never flipped to let the light in.
The silence inside that box
spoke louder than words
it whispered of pain
hiding in every verse you never wrote.
I wonder if what you call love
was ever true love at all.
You left me
dancing in silence,
caught between a love that never lived
and a hate that never spoke its name.
The letters you never sent
are the ones that cut deepest.
I sit with them anyway
pains and tears spilling
down my cheeks,
searching for healing in empty paper.
If only your heart would unfold,
if only the words you buried
found their way to the page,
maybe we wouldn’t be here
living in pain,
dancing in the silence,
wandering through the dark.
So I have decided:
I will write my own letter.
I will seal my truth inside it.
And maybe one day,
you will open it,
read it,
and finally reply.
Copyright ©
George Lindsey
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