A Thousand Love Letters
I opened the door and took off my shoes, not turning them around.
“Sorry, just doing some major clean up. This will take awhile.”
I tiptoed across the room and sat on the bed, looking around the boxes and piled papers. I tucked my feet under his blanket where it’s still warm.
A large stack was of torn envelopes and another of place-card sized cards. They were handwritten.
“You have a lot of letters. Who sends letters, these days?”
“My ex-wife.”
I craned my neck and read the top card. The handwriting was in a neat and deliberate script.
The sweetest lips hold poison.
“Sorry couldn’t help but read it. That’s a strange line to write to your lover, was that all there is?”
He didn’t turn.
“Yes, a line or few each time. Not exactly lovers now, huh.”
“Wow, there must be a lot here. Was this when you were dating?”
“That one’s sent probably a month ago or so.”
“Your ex sent you a card a month ago? You’ve been divorced for years, why is she sending you these?”
He stopped stacking boxes. His back stretched forever.
