her letter to.

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She holds the blue pen between her wrinkled fingers and sways the tip on the paper to form the letters. Of her worries to the man who believes her failures are the beauty of her flaws. Of her answer to his question, ‘when will you answer?’ Of her response, after a long run, of ‘yes.’

She writes the last line: ‘you can reply with a letter or come here. We’re just one house apart.’ She folds and places the paper inside the envelope. She locks the flap with her tongue.

But at the back of the envelope, she would write the name. Of the man who has been waiting for twenty years after her own husband died. Of the man who promises his last breath for her touch.

Of her unknown affection for the man she has forgotten about.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

let me hold your words before you leave;

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