Just Not Out Loud - Jan 31 2026

 

Just Not Out Loud

Jan 31 2026

I began my letter with Dear … .

This is not a word I’d ordinarily use.

It’s what an old lady might say

asking for help,

wishing the best,

or addressing a child;

but never me.

The same with how I end it.

Not with sincerely

a breezy your friend

or a bohemian ciao,

but Love … ;

which isn’t a confession

just the standard way to close.

So while I can write that 4-letter word

I’m still too repressed

to say it out loud.

Written

where no one takes it literally,

and where I get to live a little

when it’s pen to paper

at arm’s length.

Maybe, if I’d been raised in a family

that wasn’t shy about opening up

a word like this would come more easily.

Maybe, if I was more in touch

with my softer side

it wouldn’t be such a strain

to get it out.

Of course, there’s no salutation in a text

and emails are business-like.

So I get to skate through life

on the the thin ice

of informality.

Because who even sends 

postal mail these days?

No heartfelt affection.

Nothing written by hand

on fancy paper

that some day might be evidence.

No anticipation 

waiting for a letter

from someone special,

then tearing open an envelope

with her lingering scent.

No, the closest you get

is something that at least isn’t addressed

to Resident

or Whom It May Concern. 

Dear Sir, of course, is perfectly fine.

There’s a tension in those two words

where any innuendo

is cancelled out;

the soft-pedalling Dear

the harumph of Sir.

Where Dear is a mere formality

that reveals so little

even I’m OK with it.

  … Just not out loud, of course.

Like closing with Love;

another 4-letter word

I keep to myself.