35 parts Complete MatureI never meant to keep the letters. I only wrote them to spill the words I couldn't say aloud to bleed the truth onto paper, seal it, and let time quietly carry it away. But time didn't take them. You stayed etched in every unsent line, every silence I tried to write through. This isn't a love story, It's the aftermath of love when it fades without noise, when hearts break quietly, and memories linger in ink that never dries. He was the goodbye I never spoke, and I was the story he never finished reading. So for every draft left unopened, for every feeling buried deep, and every love that never found its ending will you ever return to me, or will I keep writing letters while you continue to ink me in ghost words?
