I never sent this letter, but I wrote it a
thousand times in my head.
On the bus.
In the rain.
While staring at the ceiling at 3:00a.m.,
wondering if you ever thought of me the way I
still-occasionally-think of you.
This isn't a love letter,not exactly.
It's more like a whisper I wish I had the
courage to say out loud.
I miss who we were, before the silences and
the slow fading.
I miss the small things-your laugh echoing
down a hallway, the way you always made
everything feel like it would be okay.
But I know now that some people are meant to
be chapters, not the whole book.
If you're out there, I hope you're doing well.
I hope your sky is blue, your heart is light, and
your coffee is made just right.
You'll never read this, and that's okay.
Some letters aren't meant to be sent.
They're just meant to set us free.
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