Love Letter

She opens it by running her finger nail down the side of the

envelope. The paper tears jagged and curls under her nail. The

outside of the envelope is plain, white, with no markings or

writing other than the address and a postage stamp. She brings the

envelope to her mouth and blows into the end that she has torn open.

Her breath fills the inside, expanding it with life.


The letter is three pages, folded over in the middle. It is

hand written. She can tell from the black ink that bled through,

leaving ghost mirrors of the words written on the front. She pulls

the pages from the envelope, laying it on the table. She grips

the letter in both hands, on either side of the pages, unfolds them

with her thumbs and forefingers.


The paper, yellowed, looks old. She recognizes his hand

writing immediately. She reads each line slowly, as though it might

disappear when she finished with it. The dark, black ink that he

used, that had bled through to the back side of each page, is from

the only type of pen he liked to use. Her thoughts turn to how funny the

little things are that make a person who they are, who you love.

Things like only using one type of pen. But, those are the things

that we cherish about them.


Some of the words are smeared. He was left handed, and if the

ink didn't dry fast enough it would smear as he wrote. In the left

margin running up and down the pages are faint letters, picked up a

line or two earlier, stamped on the page by the palm of his hand.


Once finished reading the letter, she reads it again. It

says what every love letter has ever wanted to say. All the things

that people try to accomplish in love letters but fail at, coming

across as forced or cliche, was inside this letter. The pages

start shaking in her hands. Her cheeks wet, and her bottom

lip trembles. The power and emotion of the letter is that

strong. Her knees give out and she falls into the chair at the

table.


It has been a little more than a month since she received the

news about his death. He had been over seas on business, and died

unexpectedly. She doesn't like to think about it. The nights are

the worst. She has been expecting this letter. She had given up

hope. The hope of one last word, one last time with him.


The letter makes the nights a little better. She reads it

every night before lying down. When she finishes reading it she

places the letter under her pillow. She falls asleep lying there

thinking about him. Sometimes it takes minutes,

other nights longer. But it's never like that first month. The

letter has a calming effect that counters the spell that night-time can

have. The one that brings to life all the horrors that stay below

during the day. I can't say what was in the letter, not exactly.

And, I won't insult it by trying to write something in. It was just

a love letter, the love letter. The one that we all have in our

hearts, but can never seem to put on page. But, he did, he found a

way.