
The letter took to the lighter’s flame easily and started to burn. Within seconds, the ashes lay grey and solemn on the table. She brushed them away, leaving streaks.
Fingers shaking, she lighted a cigarette and savored a long drag. As the familiar smell and taste calmed her down, she turned her attention to the pile of handwritten letters strewn on her desk.
She had thought this would be hard. It was harder. But with one down, she knew she could get through it. She had suffered enough. She had grieved enough. It was time.
Burning bridges would start with burning letters.
This story is written as part of “Wednesday Writing Prompts” from the Pakistani Lady Bloggers Facebook community, prompting us to talk about handwritten letters.
