We write,
and the letters form words,
the words form sentences,
the sentences form paragraphs,
the paragraphs form letters.

We write,
letters to the ones in our hearts,
the ones who make us sad,
the ones who make us angry,
the ones who make us love.

We write,
and the letters sit on the table,
until we re-read the words poured from our hearts,
until we put them into a box,
until we put the box back onto the shelf.

We write,
so many letters,
filled with our desires,
filled with our hopes,
filled with our fears.

We write,
and we know no one but us will read them.
Not friends.
Not family.
Not lovers old or new.

We write,
and the letters fill the box,
some folded neatly,
some crumpled and smoothed back out again,
some tear stained.

We write,
and in the writing we find
solace,
release,
catharsis

Craig Allen
© May, 2009

05/10/2009

Posted on 11/12/2011
Copyright © 2024 Craig Allen