The Half-Eaten Letter

I found a piece of paper,

yellowed at the edges,

torn like a broken heart.

It was a letter I never finished,

ink bleeding into the fiber

like a wound that refuses to close.

I wrote about the grit of the road,

the grace of the stars,

and the silence of a house that is no longer a home.

I am a man of character,

but I was afraid of my own words.

No status can buy back the time,

no empty degree can fix a shattered silence.

I didn't burn it.

I didn't throw it away.

I just folded it into a small square

and hid it inside my chest.

A new life, they say,

is just a story we haven't told yet.

Stay firm in your art.

Stay loyal to your secrets.

The world wants the end of the book,

but the universe loves the unfinished page.