Then there are those letters which will never see the light of day, not because they lack any substance but because they lack a soulful intention behind them.
These unsent letters have a place of their own. They sit in my notebook, hidden away among pages of notes and jotted down musings.
Each unsent letter is the beginning of a conversation and its completion. It opens up an old window in an old room which has been sealed off for a long time.
They are not about cowardice but preservation, about saving those feelings which we are too weak to share. They are apologies, gratitude, goodbyes, and forgiveness.
In these letters, sometimes I see myself rather than the other person I am addressing. I see myself learning to let go and forgiving myself.
That might just be the nature of the craft: not all letters must reach another soul to be heard.
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