In the quiet of the night, I reach for my pen,
To scribble words unsaid, to you again.
Each stroke on paper, a silent plea,
A whisper of what you mean to me.

The ink flows freely, emotions untamed,
My heart’s true voice, no longer framed.
Yet these letters, they remain unsent,
For fear of what your silence meant.

Between the lines, our memories dance,
A timeless waltz, a fleeting chance.
I write of laughter, of tears once shed,
Of dreams we shared and paths we tread.

And so I write, in endless night,
Of love and loss, of wrongs and right.
These words, my heart’s most sacred song,
To you, where they truly belong.