I wrote a letter this week.
A real letter. On paper. With an envelope sealed. A stamp carefully placed in the corner.
It was a bet placed on the power of the written word.
I watched it fall into the box with trepidation, for it carried the potential to damage instead of repair.
It held words of pure intentions unwittingly charged with sentiments of pain and sadness, angst and love.
I wondered if it would go up in flames or down in glory.
The truth is it exploded into a million pieces and then floated all around us - me and the one who read it.
I caught a few words in my hand. He trapped one near his heart. We will put it back together if it takes forever.
He said "why couldn't you just talk to me?"
Oh, but I did. Once or twice. But you didn't hear me.
Until you read it in a letter.