Letters

Hidden away in the corner of the table are letters that were never sent – be it confessions or heartfelt apologies – with words that are stringed carefully. The papers are stained with inks and scratch marks from the pen, denoting the immense anxiety I feel as I scribbled my thoughts. I am usually eager to send out handwritten letters and cards, knowing that the feeling of receiving mail from the letterbox outweighs that of email inbox accessible from computers, smartphones and tables. But there are some letters that I hold back in hesitation, moments before they are sealed into envelopes.

The trajectory truth.
Thoughts that are buried deep.
Witty comments.
Snark remarks.

I cannot help but to think of the consequences that comes after sending those letters out. How would the recipient feel? Would it affect them as much as it affected me as I penned down pages of words? Would it open up stitches of fresh wounds? There is an underlying reason as to why such words were never spoken: clearly, because I know what I would hear and the immense fear that comes together. I want to believe that if they are never spoken, they will never be the truth.

The letters will stay in their respective envelopes, for some things are better left unsaid and unknown.

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