Late-night room tone,

the screen still awake.

One message—

never sent.

City lights through half-closed blinds,

2 a.m., I’m wide awake.

Your last words still on my screen,

I scroll like time might break.

I hold my phone like it could breathe,

like it knows what I should say.

One sentence could change everything,

or push you further away.

I keep collecting reasons

not to cross that line,

and every excuse I make

leaves the truth behind.

This love is unsent

Three in the morning

I typed your name

And couldn’t move

Unsent

Right before “send”

The night kept going

Without you

Your name alone still hurts my chest,

like it knows I’m not okay.

Someone said you’re doing fine now,

that you laugh a different way.

I imagine you somewhere else,

in a life I don’t belong.

If I knock on that new door,

would you wish I’d stayed gone?

The future where you say

“It’s too late”

felt heavier

than never hearing back.

This love is unsent

I heard your answer

Before it came

Inside my head

Unsent

Before it turned

Into “read”

I almost broke

If I were braver…

No.

Silence was still a decision.

This love is unsent

I closed the screen

I let you have

Your tomorrow

Unsent

The words I erased

Still stay with me

Tonight

No typing.

No light.

Still unsent—

but real.