There’s a feeling here. It’s not what keeps me from writing the closing of this letter. Instead, I imagine a close friend, whispering that I should be careful. The right thing might capture what I intend to say, what I wish to convey, but the wrong thing will result in an omission, and therefore nothing.
Simplicity seems to be the answer.

Requiem for the things that no longer matter.
Matter no longer for the things that requiem.

The answer seems to be simplicity.
Nothing can amount from an omission, caused by the wrong choice of words, but what I intend to say may be captured by the right words, the correct conveyance. A whispering, as from a close friend, warns me to be careful. The closing of this letter is not held back by it. Here, there is a feeling.