The Memory of an Unsent Letter

The Memory of an Unsent Letter

Arman Rashid 

I held the paper in trembling hands,

words carefully chosen, yet heavy with fear.

Each sentence carried the weight of my heart,

but the envelope remained closed and silent.

I imagined you reading what I could not say,

your eyes tracing every line I wrote.

The ink became a bridge I never crossed,

a story of longing left unread.

I folded the letter one last time,

placing it where no one could find.

The corners softened with quiet care,

as if knowing it would never leave me.

Days passed, and the paper stayed hidden,

its secrets safe in shadows and dust.

I spoke to the wind, hoping it might carry

my words to you, even without my voice.

The memory of writing it lingers still,

a gentle ache in my chest that will not fade.

I see your face in every quiet moment,

and the letter lives between my thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if it mattered at all,

if words unsent still hold power or truth.

But even in silence, it taught me something:

love is not always shown, yet always felt.

And though it never reached your hands,

it whispers to you softly through time.