Short Story: The letter.

No one sends letters these days.  Only junk mail and bills.  I ripped open the envelope, ready to exclaim in indignation at the exorbitant cost of utilities.

But it was a letter, slipped in my mailbox by mistake and now unthinkingly desecrated by me.  I skimmed the contents absent-mindedly.  Mundane details of a stranger’s life in a delicate penmanship, on an almost transparent page.  The postscript caught my eye and guilt washed over me.  “P.S.  I still love you.”

Tacked at the end, almost as if an after-thought.  Who knew though the import of it to the intended recipient.  Perhaps someone had been waiting a long time to hear that throwaway line.  Perhaps, it was the standard postscript between two correspondents: an understanding between them encapsulated in the shorthand of four short words.  Or perhaps my imagination had run away with me again.

Whatever the reason, I had already betrayed the writer’s trust in the confidentiality of the postal system.  The least I could do was return the letter to rightful recipient.

Written as part of WordPress’ Writing 101: Building a Blogging Habit challenge.


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