Letters Never Sent

Letters never sent drift slow within time’s pocket.
Each page is a small pearl threaded upon hours’ wire.
Suspended they stay, among voice-dust and daylight’s gleam.
Memory strokes them, stringing beads along time’s thread.
Words left unspoken, laughter never sent, weighted silence.
The thread extends, slowly, between yesterday and tomorrow.
Yet in the evening, it ignites a small constellation of unseen gems.
Each tiny bead promises what wasn’t written, but was recalled.
Thus memory guards the incompleteness, a breathing necklace.