Letter

Idle letter,
Lost in the recesses
Of a crowded desk.

The ink, once vibrant,
Now faded, sun-bleached,
A ghost of forgotten thoughts.

Words linger on brittle paper,
A whisper on the edge of memory,
A melody lost in time’s symphony.

Unanswered questions inhabit
The hollow spaces between lines,
Echoes of what once was.

Does the recipient rest in knowing,
Or are they caught in a dance of wonder,
Trapped in the anticipation of reply?

Who holds the power in this silence?
The sender, with their bated breath,
Or the recipient, with their unread words?

Idle letter,
Undelivered,
But not unheard.