His letter had been misplaced. Lost in the system for years. The red-faced mailman delivered it with profuse apologies.
I told him, “It’s not your fault.”
But seeing his handwriting, his name, his yellowed paper was bittersweet. Something I had once hoped arrived in a time when forgiveness had turned nearly to forgotten.
Now, it was something else.
I walked to the beach for privacy. The words tumbled upon me. My imagination ran ahead. What had become of him? Clues without answers.
The breeze teased a page loose. It fluttered away. His letter, some answers, evaded me like a trickster.
Photo is copyright by MaxGag.
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