Pen Pals

I keep seeing these things
about writing letters
or pen pals and stamps,
and my fingers itch
and my heart cries out
for pen and paper,
the rough plane
of the sheet
and the weight of it
filling my hands and heart
with so many words,
oh so many words
that need speaking
and saying
but I type instead.
It’s as if typing
makes them less real,
these faltering poems
plastered here for all,
but a letter,
a real one
like I used to send,
that’s a message
one I can’t reread
and wonder how
you’re understanding
my words,
one that actually
gets to touch your fingertips
and taste the tears
you spill on its pages.
I want to write one
but then I’d have to send it
and I’m not yet sure
if I’m ready to wait
for a response
that will never come,
to once again
have a pen pal
who doesn’t write back.



14 thoughts on “Pen Pals

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