Unsent letters

There are things we say.

Things we write.

And then there are things we write but will never say.

Letters that will never be sent, messages that will never reach someone’s hands.

Not because there’s no one to send them to, but because that’s not the point.

The point is to write them.

The point is to understand what’s moving inside us.

Sometimes I’ve written letters to people I would never have had the courage to look in the eye and say the same things to.

Other times I’ve written them to people I love deeply, but for some reason have never shared certain words with.

Letters written not to make peace or clear things up with others, but probably to make peace with myself.

Writing to someone without ever sending it might sound like a teenage game or some odd kind of therapy.

In reality, it’s a simple and profound act of reflection.

Because when we put our thoughts in order, our emotions start to reveal what they really are.

No longer just reactions or vague discomfort, but words we can understand—words that often carry more meaning than we expected.

Sometimes we write in anger.

Then we read it back and realise that the anger was only sadness in disguise.

Sometimes we write with complete certainty, and as we do, we discover a doubt we hadn’t given space to.

Writing without the weight of needing to be understood is freeing.

Writing only to understand yourself, even more so.

Sometimes we write to a father.

Sometimes to a friend who’s no longer here.

To a lost love.

And sometimes, more often than we admit, we write to a part of ourselves.

Not every word needs to be delivered.

But every word needs to be written.

You don’t need to be a poet.

You don’t need metaphors, semicolons, or bold titles.

Honesty is enough.

The beauty is not in the elegance of the sentences, but in the truth they carry.

A truth that, sometimes, only emerges because we wrote it down.

Writing letters that no one will read is an exercise in awareness.

It’s a form of care.

A small, quiet room where we can look at ourselves with more kindness.

Perhaps the point is not to write in order to be understood, but to write in order to understand.

Because some letters, even without ever leaving our hands, end up exactly where they were meant to: with us.

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Writing letters that will never be sent is an exercise in self-awareness and clarity. You don’t need to be a poet—only honest enough to put into words what truly matters. Sometimes, while we believe we are speaking to others, we are really speaking to ourselves.

Explore how coaching can help you and possibly access a pro bono cycle with me. Nicola Arnese offers these sessions in his free time so as not to create conflicts with other professional commitments. Some flexibility in scheduling may be necessary.