Unsent Letter

I wrote you a letter— a few, actually. Blank pages folded in sorrow, sealed with the weight of words I cannot say. Every time the ink dares to spill, my eyes betray me, blurring the lines of goodbye before they can be drawn. So I close them— and the letter remains, silent as the space you left behind. I have letters for you, not like I’d ever send them. It would take a real angel to deliver words, that never found their wings.