This letter is unwritten
And the words it speaks are deaf.
It will send no regards –
Or butterflies in the air,
Only unrealized whispers of love:
Soft but vanishing
Amidst the misty frost of nothing.
This is a letter.
Only it remains in the foregrounds of thought-
Like the ink that almost kissed the stationery
The fancy lines in its crimson surface are like still waves- unmoved.
Thousand thoughts trouble this thinking.
As the letter in the mail remained unwritten.