The letter has come at last.
You have been waiting for days.
You open the envelope with
Both excitement and anxiety
Gripping you tight. His script
Is as per norm: clear, well written
With that slanting at the end of words.
He hasn’t signed with love or left
Those flying bird kisses. You see
Meaning between words, not those
He’s written, but what it was he
Meant to say, but hasn’t. You skip
Words on matters trite. You read
Deeply on the words that mention
You or how he feels. You hold his
Letter tightly between fingers of
Both hands. The page shakes.
He doesn’t say he loves you or
Speak of that night of sexual passion.
You fold the letter carefully; place
It in the pocket of your dress. You
Gaze out the window at the passing
Crowds below. It isn’t what he writes
That troubles you, but what he leaves
Unsaid that brings you now so low.