Unsent

Artwork source: https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/624522673304919223/

Too often, I'd pick up a pen and write down a line or two of what I would say if time permitted a re-do .

Too often, I'd stare at blank pages for hours creating scenarios I only have the pleasure of desiring or despising. Too often, I'd struggle to catch the necessary words fleeting above my head to describe what I can't because they're long gone the very second I realize it's exactly what I needed. Too often, these words are all tangled up and I'd have to make sense of what each one means so I could make sense of what I'm feeling. Too often, I'd only scribble a word or two before being drowned again and again in thoughts of what happened, what is happening, and what could happen. Too often, it's the "what could've happened" that catapults me to scribbling past two, three or more lines and then comes a snowball of questions I don't know the answer to. Too often, I'd just whisper in the wind every word that I've inked and sealed in my letter but I'd rather just tuck these letters to bed in my mind and hope it reaches its recipient.