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.

Daily Post prompt.


1 thought on “Tricky

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