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.