We start with a draft

  we never send.

  Something short,

  honest,

  sitting in the folder

  at 2 AM.

  The grammar’s fine.

  The words are true.

  Still—something stops us.

  We try revising alone.

  Softer openings.

  Safer closings.

  Delete. Rewrite. Delete.

  Then two drafts meet.

  Not to complete each other—

  just to exist in the same inbox.

  Unsent. Unread. Understood.

  No forced sends.

  No desperate replies.

  Just patience,

  and permission to stay unfinished.

  Over time,

  the drafts start talking.

  Fragments find their pairs.

  A letter emerges—

  not forced,

  but assembled.

  And when it finally sends—

  quiet, inevitable—

  we don’t wait for a response.

  We just let the words land,

  knowing

  they arrived

  because we wrote.