A Letter Without Address

A Letter Without Address

I don't say everything I want to say to you anymore. Just like before, I used to share small joys and sorrows every day, now those words are stored in the pages of my diary, in the folds of my notepad. Sometimes I write them in your inbox, and then a little later I delete them in the backspace. I thought, what's the point of saying them? Will you understand the cry hidden behind my every word? The wail of my sleepless nights? The countless songs of sadness without you?

I know, these words no longer make any sense. You might laugh them off, or ignore them with bored eyes. But to me, these are the heaviest feelings in the world. Each word is like a sigh torn from the heart.

Do you know a strange truth? You can't tell the person you are sad about about the same. That's why everything remains a secret. It accumulates and becomes heavy inside your heart. Sometimes I think, if only you would understand once, how devastated I am without you, how alone I am even in this crowd! But then I explain to myself again—no, you're not supposed to understand this.

Isn't it cruel? I understand the feelings, I sense them, they stir up a storm in my heart, but you can't even know. It feels like an incomplete letter, with no address, no recipient. There's only me, and there are thousands of things I haven't said.

So tell me, how helpless a feeling this really is?