Unposted

It lay inside the book, a flattened ghost,

of a beach I visited, long ago.

A picture postcard, almost lost,

with a painted sun and sand below.

I’d started writing, words half-formed,

a hesitant 'Thinking of you' scratched out.

The pen had faltered, thoughts unstormed,

a message I just couldn't speak about.

The ink had faded, like the bright blue sea,

the generic sentiment, a hollow ring.

Another gesture, lost to me,

an unsaid kindness, that failed to sing.

Just paper now, a silent claim,

that never made it to its rightful name.