TheLetters INever Wrote
PREFACE
Thisbookwasborninthespacesinbetween. Betweenwhatisspokenandwhatlingers.
Betweenbreaths,memories,andmomentsthatrefusedto disappear.
Thepoemsinthiscollectionarenotanswers,buttraces— tracesofemotionsthatweresometimestoovastfor language, andthereforeneededrhythm,silence,andimagerytoexist.
Hereyouwillfindfragilityandpersistence, whatbreaks,andwhatcontinuestohopedespiteeverything.
Readslowly,orquickly. Openonepageatatime,orletthebookfallopenwhereit will.
Youmayrecognizeyourself,oryoumaynot. Perhapsitisintheunfamiliarthatsomethingdeeplyfamiliar appears.
Ifthesewordsinviteyoutopause, tofeelalittlemore,ortofeelalittlelessalone, thentheyhavealreadyfoundtheirpurpose.
Totheoneswewere,
theoneswelost, andtheoneswearestillbecoming.
WhispersInSunlitGardens
Whenyouleft,theworldgrewstill,aquiethush,asudden chill. Butinthesilence,Ifeltyouthere,dancinggentlyinthe morningair.
Abutterfly,fragile,yetsofree,whisperedofthemanyou usedtobe.
Withwingsofgoldandmidnighthue, Youreturned,inskiesofbaby-blue. Eachflutterspoke,thoughsoftandsmall, Ofwisdomshared,andloveforall. Thestrengthofyourhands,thewarmthofyourgrin,Now carriedinwindsthatbrushmyskin.
Youvisitmeinquietways, Insunlitgardens,onwarmerdays.Restinglightlyonmy hand,Asiftosay,“Iunderstand.”
Yoursoul,Isee,wasmeanttosoar, Toleavethepainandbemuchmore.Andthoughyou’re gone,you’realwaysnear,Abutterfly,myheartholdsdear.
SowhenIseeyou,fragileandbright, Iknowyou’refree,andallfeelsright. Ineveryflutter,Ifindatrace, Ofmygrandfather’slove,inboundlessspace.
WhereTheWindKeepsYourName
Iwalkthesamestreetasthen.Thehousesarestillthere, buttheircolorshavequietedalittle.Theasphaltremembers oursteps, howsmallminewerebesideyours, howIhadtotaketwoforeveryoneyoutook.
Youusedtopointatthesea, saythatthewindalwaysknowswhereit’sgoing,evenwhen youdon’t.
Ididn’tunderstandthen, butnowIthinkaboutitoften whenthewindblowsinDenHelder, andIwalkthesameroadalone.
Everythingisthesame— thescentofsalt, theoldbenches, theshellsinthesandthatalwaysgleamthemostwhenthe lightisabouttofade. Buttheairisdifferent.
Itcarriesyou,somehow.
Asifyou’restillwhisperingsomethingbetweenthewaves andthewind.
AndwhenIstopatthecornerwhereyouusedtolaugh, Ialmosthearthesoundagain. Itdoesn’tcomefrommemory, butfromtheworlditself— asifitmissesyoutoo.
Iwalkhomeatdusk,thinkingthatsomewalksneverreally end.
Youjustkeepwalkingthem, insilence, untilyoumeetagain.
ButInThisLife…
Inanotherlife mymotherhaschildren, butIamnotoneofthem.
Inanotherlife sheishandedadaughter whoarrivesalreadyfluentinsuccess— gradesthatgleam, reportcardswithoutapologies, afuturethatfoldsneatlyintoherexpectations.
Inanotherlife herdaughterisperfect inthewayperfectmeanstoher: quietambition, softedges, nosharpneeds.
Inanotherlife herdaughterlaughsattherightmoments, thesociallysanctionedones,
andcriesonlyatfunerals— neverinbedrooms, neverinbathrooms, neverforreasonsthatcannotbeexplained inasentenceortwo.
Inanotherlife herdaughterdoesnotweighherdown. Shedoesnotcomewithappointments, orpillbottles, orthelowhumofwaitingrooms. Nocalendarscircledinred. Noquestionsthatdon’thaveanswers.
Inanotherlife therearenosigns— nodepressionhidingbehindtheeyes, noanxietychewingattheedgesoftheday, nodrugs,noalcohol, noattemptstoquietamindthatwillnotsleep.
Inanotherlife voicesareraisedonlyinfootballstands, handscuppedaroundjoy, neversharpenedintoweapons.
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