There’s so many letters left undelivered.

Too many poems left unread by the person I want to.

Those words that were left unspoken,

Kept it inside my heart.

But I just wish to burst those things out.

When questions were directed and opportunities laid infront.

But I stumped every time, tongue-tied.

As I wasn’t able to think it through.

When I’m left to wander within my thoughts.

And I felt that the words were from this heart.

It just flows, impromptu.

Madly writing it down into poetry and letters.

But when I was about to deliver.

I start to question and reconsider.

And it was left right there.

In my diary, or notebook.

Unseen by anyone and untouched.

And time keeps flowing like a river.

And I stumbled upon the letters.

I wonder, would it be too late?

The words like thunder or silky smooth lake waters.

I wonder if the receiver would laugh at the unprecedented delivery.

Or be shocked and hurt by the sudden truth.

Letters cannot penetrate through people’s thoughts.

Especially when they were being lost, uncontinued and left there on the shelves.

Makes me ponder.

Should I ever write this letter?

Should I ever, deliver to the one person that I wish to ever,

Read this.

Should I?


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