The paper shakes inside my hands,
Your words like rivers, I can’t withstand.
Ink of longing bleeds so true,
Every line pulls me back to you.
I trace the letters, feel your breath,
A silent echo that won’t forget.
But distance builds a wall too tall,
And I can’t climb it at all.
Half a letter left, but the words still burn,
Every page I read makes my heartbeat turn.
You’re a world away, yet I feel so near,
Half a letter left, but your soul is here.
I close my eyes, your voice appears,
Between the lines, I taste your tears.
The ink may fade, the paper fold,
But your confession never grows old.
I breathe the silence after your name,
A fragile hope I can’t contain.
Each syllable’s a gentle bind,
That ties me back to what I can’t find.
Half a letter left, but the words still burn,
Every page I read makes my heartbeat turn.
You’re a world away, yet I feel so near,
Half a letter left, but your soul is here.
If I could fold the miles away,
I’d bring your hands to mine today.
But all I hold is paper thin,
A fragile truth I’m drowning in.
Half a letter left, but the fire won’t fade,
Every word you wrote is a serenade.
Though the night is long, I can feel you clear,
Half a letter left, but your heart is here.
Half a letter…
Half of you… still here.
