Oh, unwritten letter, silent in your sleeve,
A story unspoken, a tale you weave,
Your pages blank, your ink not bled,
A chorus of whispers, unsaid, unread.

You linger in the mind, a thought half-formed,
A ghostly presence, quiet, warm,
In the realm of might-have-been,
Where dreams and shadows intertwine.

What secrets would your lines impart?
What whispers...