The Letter I Never Sent

I don’t know what to say to you;

I have this feeling to reach out-

Yet, why does it matter?

I no longer have affection for you,

not in the slightest.


I don’t want you back-

so why does the sight of you bother me? 

I become paralyzed with nervousness:

unable to speak

as I randomly pass you in the street,



I’m waiting for closure:

I have a reoccurring dream where 

you and I have a decent conversation-

nothing more than a single friendly occasion. 

If this came to fruition 

I could let go, and maybe feel whole again.

At least, I tell myself this:

it’s not certain.


There’s no way for me to know your perspective

without making small communication;

I’d like to break this standstill 

and acknowledge your existence

to be friendly, in case I’m to run into you again. 


I just want to know how you are,

get rid of this awkwardness-

not re-kindle a relationship, or reminisce in our past friendship-

Simply, this is an invitation towards conversation

How can I not be somewhat interested

in the most recent life of someone 

I grew with?

This poem is about: 


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