#unsentletters - Hello Poetry

#unsentletters

The room smelled of forgotten promises. Dust curled in sunbeams, the piano sighing songs we never finished. A photograph – bent corners; a letter pressed smooth, its words folded into silence. Your laughter trembles through empty walls, shadows shimmer and fade… and I remain where your laughter once lived.

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Jan 21

Jan 21, 2026 at 8:21 AM UTC

The Scent of Goodbye

The room smelled of forgotten promises. Dust curled in sunbeams, the piano sighing songs we never finished. A photograph – bent corners; a letter pressed smooth, its words folded into silence. Your laughter trembles through empty walls, shadows shimmer and fade… and I remain where your laughter once lived.

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Missing names in my letterbox— but mostly yours. And I have no right to claim it, no reason to expect your name to arrive again. I try to write it out— all that it was between us. A love so bizarre, so hard to define, yet somehow… _energizing._ But I want to cut the ties my eyes have to their tiredness— but I’m still oddly entangled in the thought of falling asleep to the memory of you. _Tired! Tired!_ But no rest compares to you, or the rest I see. And maybe— just maybe— the measure I hold love to now is too tight, too closed, to give anything new even a chance.

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Jun 21, 2025

Jun 21, 2025 at 2:48 PM UTC

Tired of Remembering

Missing names in my letterbox— but mostly yours. And I have no right to claim it, no reason to expect your name to arrive again. I try to write it out— all that it was between us. A love so bizarre, so hard to define, yet somehow… _energizing._ But I want to cut the ties my eyes have to their tiredness— but I’m still oddly entangled in the thought of falling asleep to the memory of you. _Tired! Tired!_ But no rest compares to you, or the rest I see. And maybe— just maybe— the measure I hold love to now is too tight, too closed, to give anything new even a chance.

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dearest stranger, i am too abstract now for my own good. i feel and hold myself, in place, in my hands and i slip right through like sunlight, like tiny moth scales, like the delusions of a sauntering ghost, like all things unreal and untouchable, like a madwoman, laughing away in her free fall to an unsteady ground. and all the flowers are cheering in their surreal, psychedelic scarlets, and all the rocks are breaking, and all the words are failing to capture what i truly feel. am i still despairingly corporeal, like paper napkins and panes of glass? am i still in actual flesh, now that god doesn't exist? am i still as tangible as this last, frantic breath of a letter? am i still actually here? bidding my farewell now, ginia

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Mar 3, 2022

Mar 3, 2022 at 11:35 PM UTC

my mind is an escape room

dearest stranger, i am too abstract now for my own good. i feel and hold myself, in place, in my hands and i slip right through like sunlight, like tiny moth scales, like the delusions of a sauntering ghost, like all things unreal and untouchable, like a madwoman, laughing away in her free fall to an unsteady ground. and all the flowers are cheering in their surreal, psychedelic scarlets, and all the rocks are breaking, and all the words are failing to capture what i truly feel. am i still despairingly corporeal, like paper napkins and panes of glass? am i still in actual flesh, now that god doesn't exist? am i still as tangible as this last, frantic breath of a letter? am i still actually here? bidding my farewell now, ginia

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i have had a bad habit of grieving things that haven't left yet, my love, and it will be the death of me. i will give you all the dusk skies that fit inside my fists — this the dullest aching that my heart can hold. one day, it will fade into the colors of my loneliest nights. i hope that tonight, i will choke on all the longing i'm yet to feel — and maybe when you leave, no breath will be loud enough stop the time in crowded airports. no breath will haunt you in manhattan's streets. no breath will beg for you to stay. i hope you find someone to love; i hope city lights fall softly on her neck as she hums your favorite song. i hope her skin tastes like daybreaks and poems. i hope sunsets live and die for her, and that you too, live and die for her and all the cosmic flickers in her eyes. i can already feel you loving her and maybe soon, i'll be forgotten, like this letter under your bed. maybe soon, i, too, will forget the sound of your laughter. in death, it's the last sense to ever go. i have a bad habit of grieving things that haven't left yet, and this letter is for when you say goodbye my love. this letter is for when you finally leave.

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May 15, 2021

May 15, 2021 at 2:00 AM UTC

may 14, 2021, 9:39 pm

i have had a bad habit of grieving things that haven't left yet, my love, and it will be the death of me. i will give you all the dusk skies that fit inside my fists — this the dullest aching that my heart can hold. one day, it will fade into the colors of my loneliest nights. i hope that tonight, i will choke on all the longing i'm yet to feel — and maybe when you leave, no breath will be loud enough stop the time in crowded airports. no breath will haunt you in manhattan's streets. no breath will beg for you to stay. i hope you find someone to love; i hope city lights fall softly on her neck as she hums your favorite song. i hope her skin tastes like daybreaks and poems. i hope sunsets live and die for her, and that you too, live and die for her and all the cosmic flickers in her eyes. i can already feel you loving her and maybe soon, i'll be forgotten, like this letter under your bed. maybe soon, i, too, will forget the sound of your laughter. in death, it's the last sense to ever go. i have a bad habit of grieving things that haven't left yet, and this letter is for when you say goodbye my love. this letter is for when you finally leave.

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tell me, how long do heartbreaks last? it has been a long while now, darling and i should have gotten over you already, but here i am still mailing my heartaches to september, hoping that its rains take it all away. i should have gotten over you but still, i have learned to hide my love in the crumpled edges of every unsent letter. i have learned to tuck it in a box of overrated heartaches. i have learned to silence it, just as i have learned to silence all the songs i can never listen to again without breaking. i should have gotten over you by now but my here i am — palms made of longing and rust, reaching out for empty couches and empty beds — a stubborn instinct, a muscle memory carved in my brain. and despite all the fumbling, all the reaching — all these spaces can offer are poems spilled by these telltale lips, like lilies crowding a grave of what we were and what had been. i should have gotten over you by now, but what's the harm in failing? after all, i have nothing more to lose but made-up metaphors and midnights. so these are all my high-hopes free-falling once more to the ground. so this is me, straightening up the crumpled edges. this is me, tearing boxes and looking at heartache in the eye. this is me, drowning in the songs we ruined no matter how much it rips my heart. and this isn't another one of those unsent letters; this is an apostrophe i never dared to write seven years earlier, cause darling, some heartbreaks, you turn to poetry; some heartbreaks, you just don't. this is a testimony about what it's like to say 'i love you', and you can hear the hesitations from the tip of their tongue. this is a testimony about what it's like to have someone slipping and fading away amid all your denials. this is about what it's like to kiss someone and see someone, and the living with the pain of not knowing it's your last. this is about what it's like to wake up one day, and one month, and one year after they leave without the emptiness getting any lighter. this is about what it's like to lose someone — to just lose someone right before your very eyes. this is a testimony, darling, about what it's like to lose someone — to just helplessly lose someone when you still love them so much.

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Jan 24, 2020

Jan 24, 2020 at 7:24 AM UTC

tell me, how long do heartbreaks last? it has been a long while now, darling and i should have gotten over you already, but here i am still mailing my heartaches to september, hoping that its rains take it all away. i should have gotten over you but still, i have learned to hide my love in the crumpled edges of every unsent letter. i have learned to tuck it in a box of overrated heartaches. i have learned to silence it, just as i have learned to silence all the songs i can never listen to again without breaking. i should have gotten over you by now but my here i am — palms made of longing and rust, reaching out for empty couches and empty beds — a stubborn instinct, a muscle memory carved in my brain. and despite all the fumbling, all the reaching — all these spaces can offer are poems spilled by these telltale lips, like lilies crowding a grave of what we were and what had been. i should have gotten over you by now, but what's the harm in failing? after all, i have nothing more to lose but made-up metaphors and midnights. so these are all my high-hopes free-falling once more to the ground. so this is me, straightening up the crumpled edges. this is me, tearing boxes and looking at heartache in the eye. this is me, drowning in the songs we ruined no matter how much it rips my heart. and this isn't another one of those unsent letters; this is an apostrophe i never dared to write seven years earlier, cause darling, some heartbreaks, you turn to poetry; some heartbreaks, you just don't. this is a testimony about what it's like to say 'i love you', and you can hear the hesitations from the tip of their tongue. this is a testimony about what it's like to have someone slipping and fading away amid all your denials. this is about what it's like to kiss someone and see someone, and the living with the pain of not knowing it's your last. this is about what it's like to wake up one day, and one month, and one year after they leave without the emptiness getting any lighter. this is about what it's like to lose someone — to just lose someone right before your very eyes. this is a testimony, darling, about what it's like to lose someone — to just helplessly lose someone when you still love them so much.

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I wish you told me that wounding my knees was a part of the joy and that my hair already looked perfect in waves, and that bedtime stories weren't lame. I wish you told me these when I was a kid, instead of giving me the cliche ******** — those spilled stories over spilled beers about how you were forced to marry Mom instead of that girl named Beth. We were caught in a story, the one with that school money thoughtlessly flung on the floor, road trips arguments and drunk-driving over eighty, and nonexistent goodnight kisses and hugs. As a kid, I believed those were the indicators of affection and love. But they're not and had I known that earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who walked all over my mental health with someone who took me on a desk and spit knives in his drunken slurs, with someone who dialed another girl's number while thinking I was asleep, with someone who only dialed my number while he thought his girl was asleep, with someone who faded in the curtains after he saw my razored wrists, with someone who said I was his ***** and called it his idea of love. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have trusted men who hurt me just as you had. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who had a ****** up notion of what love was. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who was exactly like you. Dad, had I known earlier that abuse wasn't supposed to be confused with love, I would have stayed alone.

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Aug 12, 2019

Aug 12, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC

I wish you told me that wounding my knees was a part of the joy and that my hair already looked perfect in waves, and that bedtime stories weren't lame. I wish you told me these when I was a kid, instead of giving me the cliche ******** — those spilled stories over spilled beers about how you were forced to marry Mom instead of that girl named Beth. We were caught in a story, the one with that school money thoughtlessly flung on the floor, road trips arguments and drunk-driving over eighty, and nonexistent goodnight kisses and hugs. As a kid, I believed those were the indicators of affection and love. But they're not and had I known that earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who walked all over my mental health with someone who took me on a desk and spit knives in his drunken slurs, with someone who dialed another girl's number while thinking I was asleep, with someone who only dialed my number while he thought his girl was asleep, with someone who faded in the curtains after he saw my razored wrists, with someone who said I was his ***** and called it his idea of love. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have trusted men who hurt me just as you had. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who had a ****** up notion of what love was. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who was exactly like you. Dad, had I known earlier that abuse wasn't supposed to be confused with love, I would have stayed alone.

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and you ruined me, way before those filthy hands and forced kisses had, way before cigarettes, and hangovers, way before my poems fetishized my unhappiness, before best friend break-ups and pretty boys who couldn't love themselves and me. you see, it was you who ruined me first, way before all of them ever did. it was you who ruined me first, way before everything else did, way before life did, and way before i did. and sometimes, i still wish you weren't my first heartbreak

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Jul 8, 2019

Jul 8, 2019 at 3:52 AM UTC

and you ruined me, way before those filthy hands and forced kisses had, way before cigarettes, and hangovers, way before my poems fetishized my unhappiness, before best friend break-ups and pretty boys who couldn't love themselves and me. you see, it was you who ruined me first, way before all of them ever did. it was you who ruined me first, way before everything else did, way before life did, and way before i did. and sometimes, i still wish you weren't my first heartbreak

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you always ask why i always stay in my room, in that voice that always made me feel small and vulnerable — the one that always made me feel like a five-year-old girl wishing that the blankets and the stars will hush the thunders. you always ask why, dad, and yet you always find ways to hurt me the moment i come out of this four-walled shell, ashen and gray from all the storm clouds circling over my head. you always find ways to spot the cracks on my skin, like i was just another wall in this crumbling house. you always find ways lasso your words around my throat — tighter and tighter, i can no longer breathe. you always find ways to unhinge my mind; to unbottle all the tears and all the loose pieces of my heart hastily stitched out of place. dad, i am caught in a trojan war brewed by my demons, and you are paris, piercing all of my achilles heels; stitched; tender; still healing from all the poisoned arrows you shoot — a year ago. two years ago. three. four. and for years and years, you always find ways to crush me, like the cans of your empty beer. you always find ways to crack and snap this bent framework; my bones are broken from the weight of your words. you always find ways to hurt me and hurt me and hurt me and hurt me again — like i was never the little girl you played dolls and cooking sets with; like i was never the little girl you watched disney movies with. like i was never the little girl you used to love — dad, i am still she, now trapped in the body of an adult. i am still she, now trapped in the prison of a dusty room you unknowingly co-erected. and i guess i'll stay right here where i'm trapped, but safe. i guess i'll stay right here where the voices only come from my demons. i'll stay right here where you can't see me. i'll stay right here where i'm not hurt.

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Jun 25, 2019

Jun 25, 2019 at 12:20 AM UTC

you always ask why i always stay in my room, in that voice that always made me feel small and vulnerable — the one that always made me feel like a five-year-old girl wishing that the blankets and the stars will hush the thunders. you always ask why, dad, and yet you always find ways to hurt me the moment i come out of this four-walled shell, ashen and gray from all the storm clouds circling over my head. you always find ways to spot the cracks on my skin, like i was just another wall in this crumbling house. you always find ways lasso your words around my throat — tighter and tighter, i can no longer breathe. you always find ways to unhinge my mind; to unbottle all the tears and all the loose pieces of my heart hastily stitched out of place. dad, i am caught in a trojan war brewed by my demons, and you are paris, piercing all of my achilles heels; stitched; tender; still healing from all the poisoned arrows you shoot — a year ago. two years ago. three. four. and for years and years, you always find ways to crush me, like the cans of your empty beer. you always find ways to crack and snap this bent framework; my bones are broken from the weight of your words. you always find ways to hurt me and hurt me and hurt me and hurt me again — like i was never the little girl you played dolls and cooking sets with; like i was never the little girl you watched disney movies with. like i was never the little girl you used to love — dad, i am still she, now trapped in the body of an adult. i am still she, now trapped in the prison of a dusty room you unknowingly co-erected. and i guess i'll stay right here where i'm trapped, but safe. i guess i'll stay right here where the voices only come from my demons. i'll stay right here where you can't see me. i'll stay right here where i'm not hurt.

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And I hope one day, you meet her in some historic street, or in an old bookstore, or in some countryside field, and I hope she loves the way you speak with your lisp, and I hope she likes the films you like, and I hope she writes you poetry at 2 am. And I hope her words finally feel like the kind of home you’ve been looking for — the kind of home you’ll grow old in and never leave, and the one you never found in me.

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Jun 13, 2019

Jun 13, 2019 at 8:43 PM UTC

And I hope one day, you meet her in some historic street, or in an old bookstore, or in some countryside field, and I hope she loves the way you speak with your lisp, and I hope she likes the films you like, and I hope she writes you poetry at 2 am. And I hope her words finally feel like the kind of home you’ve been looking for — the kind of home you’ll grow old in and never leave, and the one you never found in me.

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Distance is a weird phenomenon, so is time. We were two continents apart, yet connected. So far yet so close. We are in the same city and yet I can't see you. So close yet so far. Maybe because tears often blur my vision. I talk to you and you make everything sound so normal, like nothing ever changed. We never stopped talking. But we never started as well. And now that you're going, I feel like you were long gone before you came back. I think it's fair enough: we didn't meet when you left, we didn't meet when you came back. I hope this settles the score. Until next time, All my love.

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Mar 2, 2019

Mar 2, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC

An unsent letter

Distance is a weird phenomenon, so is time. We were two continents apart, yet connected. So far yet so close. We are in the same city and yet I can't see you. So close yet so far. Maybe because tears often blur my vision. I talk to you and you make everything sound so normal, like nothing ever changed. We never stopped talking. But we never started as well. And now that you're going, I feel like you were long gone before you came back. I think it's fair enough: we didn't meet when you left, we didn't meet when you came back. I hope this settles the score. Until next time, All my love.

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I remember when I started drinking myself to excess and I thought of you how you didn't deserve such a **** friend who couldn't keep their life from spiraling I protected you the only way I knew how pushing you away hurt but it was right though I felt like you were, at that moment, the last string tethering me to existence itself I knew I was no good for you the way I was though I wanted to call or text dozens of times tell you about getting in to school or how I had both fallen in love (and lost them entirely) it was easy to go back to friendship we're both the same people we both love and care about each other I don't miss what we had, because it's still here

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Nov 25, 2018

Nov 25, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC

I remember when I started drinking myself to excess and I thought of you how you didn't deserve such a **** friend who couldn't keep their life from spiraling I protected you the only way I knew how pushing you away hurt but it was right though I felt like you were, at that moment, the last string tethering me to existence itself I knew I was no good for you the way I was though I wanted to call or text dozens of times tell you about getting in to school or how I had both fallen in love (and lost them entirely) it was easy to go back to friendship we're both the same people we both love and care about each other I don't miss what we had, because it's still here

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dear, settle not for inauthentic love find a poet who keeps your soul ablaze someone exists who fits you like a glove and will love you for who you are, always it is not too much to ask for romance candle-lit dinners, **** notes, warm baths there is a power in love at first glance but true romance keeps your journey on path so keep your chin up and find a poet for they will know love, and how to show it

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Oct 22, 2018

Oct 22, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC

dear, settle not for inauthentic love find a poet who keeps your soul ablaze someone exists who fits you like a glove and will love you for who you are, always it is not too much to ask for romance candle-lit dinners, **** notes, warm baths there is a power in love at first glance but true romance keeps your journey on path so keep your chin up and find a poet for they will know love, and how to show it

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sometimes I wish I could scoop you up and place you carefully in my pocket safe, tucked away from anything or anyone that could hurt you

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Oct 22, 2018

Oct 22, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC

sometimes I wish I could scoop you up and place you carefully in my pocket safe, tucked away from anything or anyone that could hurt you

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your inhibitions have never made you attractive the vapid silence adds value only to the weaker who dislike a challenge or good conversation so leave behind your moments of shame or self conscious memories of low self esteem become the person you desire to be rather than the one who's role you've been playing all these years once you learn to let go you will be able to move on with reckless abandon natural and beautiful and find the love and happiness you crave within yourself

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Oct 22, 2018

Oct 22, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC

your inhibitions have never made you attractive the vapid silence adds value only to the weaker who dislike a challenge or good conversation so leave behind your moments of shame or self conscious memories of low self esteem become the person you desire to be rather than the one who's role you've been playing all these years once you learn to let go you will be able to move on with reckless abandon natural and beautiful and find the love and happiness you crave within yourself

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I wanted a clean break so I compartmentalized my friends and his I didn't fight for you but I should've we had picked out your birthday gift together I never made the party the gift was a reminder of our failure as a couple it's not a good excuse but it's the one I have I put my own feelings of shame over our friendship because that was simpler the truth is, I was scared, too I've never told anyone that I'd watch your soccer games you would run across the field your body athletic and agile tall and capable in ways I could only wish I had been and I was scared to see you weak I'll never forget your last media post two hours before you died about how you couldn't stop coughing I regret the birthday gift you never got to open

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Sep 27, 2018

Sep 27, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC

I wanted a clean break so I compartmentalized my friends and his I didn't fight for you but I should've we had picked out your birthday gift together I never made the party the gift was a reminder of our failure as a couple it's not a good excuse but it's the one I have I put my own feelings of shame over our friendship because that was simpler the truth is, I was scared, too I've never told anyone that I'd watch your soccer games you would run across the field your body athletic and agile tall and capable in ways I could only wish I had been and I was scared to see you weak I'll never forget your last media post two hours before you died about how you couldn't stop coughing I regret the birthday gift you never got to open

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ten years ago, you sat next to me propped against a wall on my bed strumming each string of my red electric guitar tuning the cords, slowly, gently too embarrassed to play a song you were going to be a lawyer I was going to be a journalist we both had high hopes then our usual food order was tater tots with extra (extra!) sauce and pad thai in a box which we'd swap back and forth in between sips of whiskey from your metal flask sitting on the curb of the parking lot late at night after everything closed both exhausted from work you brought me a cd in the hospital I listened to it a hundred times I know all the lyrics to every song on it even a decade later the music is still ours, you know we gift each other mix tapes you always include a song by my favorite band (thank you) I couldn't make you just one playlist because all music reminds me of you our conversations flow easy we bounce back and forth teasing, joking, talking openly you always make me laugh and I don't tell you this enough but I love you and our friendship even when we go months without ever talking to each other what we have is beautiful and so important to me, I cherish it every day

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Sep 27, 2018

Sep 27, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC

ten years ago, you sat next to me propped against a wall on my bed strumming each string of my red electric guitar tuning the cords, slowly, gently too embarrassed to play a song you were going to be a lawyer I was going to be a journalist we both had high hopes then our usual food order was tater tots with extra (extra!) sauce and pad thai in a box which we'd swap back and forth in between sips of whiskey from your metal flask sitting on the curb of the parking lot late at night after everything closed both exhausted from work you brought me a cd in the hospital I listened to it a hundred times I know all the lyrics to every song on it even a decade later the music is still ours, you know we gift each other mix tapes you always include a song by my favorite band (thank you) I couldn't make you just one playlist because all music reminds me of you our conversations flow easy we bounce back and forth teasing, joking, talking openly you always make me laugh and I don't tell you this enough but I love you and our friendship even when we go months without ever talking to each other what we have is beautiful and so important to me, I cherish it every day

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Instead of sending, I burnt all the letters I have written for you Thinking that what I wrote there will turn into ashes too Wishing that my feelings will disappear into the scorching flame But the fire betrays me, as the letters are burning, I am burning too It becomes worse and it only doubles the pain How can I burn those memories without burning myself too?

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Apr 21, 2016

Apr 21, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC

Instead of sending, I burnt all the letters I have written for you Thinking that what I wrote there will turn into ashes too Wishing that my feelings will disappear into the scorching flame But the fire betrays me, as the letters are burning, I am burning too It becomes worse and it only doubles the pain How can I burn those memories without burning myself too?

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