A fold of paper, never creased,
No ink to trace the heart’s release.
The words you wrote, I’ll never know
They vanished where the lost winds blow.
The postmark faded, never stamped,
Your voice a ghost, the edges damp.
I hold the space where it should be
A letter lost, yet haunting me.
Creative Experiments and More 
Such a touching poem, Reena.
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❤️❤️
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❤️❤️❤️
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Ah! The haunting ness of unfinished business of the heart, Reena…
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Yes, it haunts till you realise it was or not really worth it.
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Beautiful imagery of loss and a task left heart-breakingly uncompleted, Reena.
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Thanks, Judy!
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This is quite moving.
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Glad you found it so, Ruth! Thanks!
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Profound.
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Thanks!
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You’re welcome ☺️
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🤗
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That line “a fold of paper, never creased” really got to me, Reena — so quietly heartbreaking.
~David
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Thank you, David!
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*hug*
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A deeply moving poem, Reena, especially the lines ‘No ink to trace the heart’s release’ and ‘I hold the space where it should be / A letter lost, yet haunting me’.
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Holding space is not easy.
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I feel the loss – missing words that could have meant so much!
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The pain lies in the guesswork. It could have been a regular letter.
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Those empty sheets are chilling… as is silence (always)
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Thank you for reading, Bjorn!
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The poem is quite haunting, too.
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Thank you, Rosemary!
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