The Letter That Killed Me | Daily Prompt: Never

Tell us about a thing you’ll never write about.

I’ll never tell you about her.

I’ll never tell you how she caught my attention by asking for my attention.
I’ll never tell about how she looked so cute and beautiful and amazing and wonderful and outrageous all at the same time when I first saw her, whenever I saw her, whenever I see her.

I’ll never tell you how my name never sounded the same after she said it.

I’ll never tell you of the songs that I could only sing because of her.
I’ll never write about the letters and the notes I sent her every day.
I’ll never show you the poems I wrote because of her.

I’ll never tell you about the heaven that she revealed to me.
I’ll never show you the universe that she opened for me.
I’ll never write about the paradise that she delivered me to.

I’ll never tell you about how she turned me into a god.

I’ll never tell you about how I immortalized her.

I’ll never tell you about how she tortured me.
I’ll never write about how she made me suffer.
I’ll never show you the letter that killed me.

I’ll never show how the ballads and lullabies turned into dirges and elegies.
I’ll never write how the light and the day turned into shadows and night.
I’ll never tell you how she destroyed the whole world.

I’ll never write about my loathing.
I’ll never write about my despair.
I’ll never write about my regrets.
I’ll never write about my hate.
I’ll never write about my pain.

I’ll never tell you that it hurts when I see her and the new guy.
I’ll never tell you that she hates that I hate her.
I’ll never tell you that she wants us to be friends.
I’ll never tell you about the confusion when she said that she misses my letters more (than me).

I’ll never tell you—or anyone else for that matter—that I still love her.
I’ll never tell.
Never.