🌙 The Last Message I Never Sent

There are messages that live inside us like ghosts. They haunt the edges of memory, whispering what could have been said but never found a voice. Some of them are small—forgotten thank-yous, unsent apologies, birthday wishes typed but never delivered. And then there are the ones that weigh like anchors, the kind that linger for years because the person they were meant for is no longer here.

This is my story. Or maybe, more truthfully, it is my confession.


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A Letter That Was Never Written

I remember opening my phone a hundred times that night. My thumb hovered over your name, glowing softly in the contacts list. I knew the words I wanted to write, but I kept telling myself, tomorrow will be a better time. Tomorrow, you would be less angry. Tomorrow, I would be less afraid. Tomorrow, maybe, I would be braver.

But tomorrow didn’t come for you.

You left this world before I found the courage to press “send.” And now that message has lived in my chest like an unbroken chain, each link rattling louder with every year that passes.


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The Unspoken Words

If I could have written it, the message would have started simply:

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry for the silence between us. Sorry for pretending the distance didn’t hurt me. Sorry for all the stubbornness that built a wall when what we both needed was a bridge.

Then I would have told you the truth, the one I swallowed far too often:

“You mattered to me more than I could ever admit. I didn’t know how to show it, but my life was brighter with you in it.”

I would have told you that your laugh carried the kind of music the world doesn’t make anymore, that the stories you told were the constellations I used to navigate my restless nights. That your kindness, even in small doses, had the power to change me in ways I never thanked you for.

And I would have ended with the words I thought I had more time to say:

“Please, stay. Please, don’t give up.”


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Silence as a Wound

The strange thing about silence is how heavy it can become. People think silence is nothingness, an absence. But when the silence is filled with words you never said, it becomes louder than thunder.

I hear it when I wake in the middle of the night, reaching for my phone, still half-expecting your name to light up my screen. I hear it when someone else laughs the way you used to, and for a split second, I think it’s you.

Every unsent word has carved itself into me like a scar. And sometimes I wonder if you would forgive me for staying quiet.


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A Poem for the Unsent

So now, all I can do is write this. A poem that will never arrive where I want it to, but maybe, if the universe has ears, it will still find you:

I typed your name, but never pressed send,
thinking time was endless, thinking love would bend.
But death is a thief, it steals without sound,
leaving messages buried, deep in the ground.

I wanted to say you were more than the fight,
more than the silence, more than the night.
I wanted to beg you to hold on, to stay,
to let me love you in a clumsy way.

Now all I can do is whisper your name,
hoping the stars will carry the flame.
The last message I never sent is this—
you were my sorrow, my strength, my missed kiss.


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Moving Forward

I don’t know if it’s possible to heal from an unsent message. Maybe we never do. Maybe it just becomes part of who we are—like a missing piece that shapes the whole.

But I have learned this much: silence is not kindness, and love unspoken can sometimes weigh as heavy as regret. So now, when the people I love cross my path, I tell them. Even if my voice trembles, even if the timing feels wrong, I tell them. Because I don’t want to collect any more ghosts of unsent words.


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The Message at Last

So here it is, the last message I never sent—written not in a text box, but on the fragile paper of memory:

“I love you. I miss you. I hope, wherever you are, you finally know.”