She burnt all the letters she wrote,
To the loved ones over the years.
Folded and concealed under the bed,
But never enveloped and sent.
Along the ashes flew away all the things untold,
The dreams she wrote about
The conversations unsold.
All the memories and photographs hoarded had fallen apart,
Gone were the letters that carried pieces of her heart.
While the fire burnt the letters to ashes,
She felt pain consuming her instead.
She cried and couldn’t sleep for nights,
She was a living corpse with no life.
For all her joy and pride was burnt down to nothing,
Twisted and shredded were all her heartstrings.
Never again was heard the scratching of her pen,
Her diary remained untouched
And never did she write a letter again.