I was never good at speaking.
At least speaking to her.
So, I’ve always liked letters
A little more than words.

What’s with all the yelling?
Why do people fight?
What’s with no more letters?
What’s with all the words?

You just hide and write.

There’s so much left unsaid.
Letters make words and words make letters.
That’s obscene, it’s absurd.
One letter can be better than a whole bunch of words.

I don’t ever ask for any numbers.
Words make letters.

Sometimes words have true meaning
And it’s never when I’m dreaming.
Putting letters together,
I’ll put them in a letter.

Write what was left unsaid.
What was left unsaid?

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