Unsent Anyway

The subject line was vague.

'Thinking of you.' From that name.

Years.

The cursor blinked on the screen,

asking me to reply. To acknowledge.

As if a handful of words, now, could un-knot

the years of silence, the sharp, cut threads.

It was a courtesy, a cleanup act.

Something they felt they should do, maybe.

Not for me, not really.

It just sat there, a hollow gesture,

a ghost of what might have mattered once.

I closed the tab. Didn't delete it.

Just left it, unread, in the inbox.

An apology that was never meant for me to accept.