The letters never sent are the hardest ones to write.
They burn on shelves where or they sit and radiate emotion from drawers.
We fill them with the things left unsaid or to clarify those opinions voiced.
We either cry or smile or feel fear as we pen them,
much like how we write our collective stories in poetry.

As we write, we are taken away.
We may be in a coffee shop,
or our rooms,
or like me, in the middle of school.
But when we display our feelings on paper things, we go into our mind-space.

Our letters never sent dripping in passion.
Saturated with our shared feelings and remembered embraces.
Of the feverish past and the heat-wrenching present.
They can be poetic and charming, but have a sharper edge of a fast mind and slow hand.

Our letters never sent are precious, so I think we should send them.