There are many ways to interpret the word ‘unwritten.’ Some people think of the unwritten as the future. The future is unwritten; they don’t know how the story will end. For me, the unwritten is what’s left unsaid or what should have been said but wasn’t.
I have many texts that I’ve typed out but have never sent. I have written many stories that have never been read. Although I’ve written them, they’re still unwritten. If nobody but me knows that they’re written, then they never were.
The messages I left unwritten were when I was stuck. I needed to think quickly, but I couldn’t. I left the moment unwritten. They didn’t know what I was going to say. They don’t have a clue. Instead, I’m left to wonder what would’ve happened if I just hit the send button. If I had moved my thumb just an inch, my unwritten text could have become written.
I didn’t. Instead, I sat there, and all I could type out was ‘I don’t know what to say.”
I did know what to say. I did. But I couldn’t. Instead, I left the words unwritten.
That day feels like a lifetime ago. I’ve typed countless unwritten messages. I typed them out, knowing what I wanted to say, but instead, I just exited the messaging app. Paragraphs for birthdays and letters that I’ve written just for fun have been left unwritten. I’m the only one who knows they’ve ever even existed. They’ve been left unwritten.
I’m the only one who knows they’ve ever even existed.
Now, I sit, just wishing I hadn’t left them unwritten. I wish I could’ve pressed send. I wish I could’ve just said it. Instead, keep leaving them unwritten.
I think of unwritten as things that are left unanswered. I think of the word ‘unwritten’ as the countless questions I ask that are never answered. I think of it as the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘if onlys’. Unwritten are the things that have been left unanswered.
I don’t think of the unwritten as the future; instead, I think of it as the past.
The unwritten, the unsaid, the unanswered.
The problem with the unsaid thoughts and the unanswered questions is that there’s no going back to get them answered. There’s no going back to say them. There’s no more going back to ask them.
I sit here wishing that I had asked them or sent that text. If I had, what would’ve been different? Would everything be different, or would the outcome be the same? I’ll never know.
The unwritten isn’t the future. It’s unsaid words, unanswered questions, and unsent messages.
