In my bag of treasures,
sits a letter from you. Itās a one pager on a once white,Ā now cream, lined piece of paper. My memory tells me the page was brand new when you gave it to me. It made that crisp, quality paper sound. Now, touched by time, the paper feels soft and worn. From time to time, I pull out your letter and read the words. I freshly engrave your handwriting into my memory, though I wouldnāt ever forget it.ā¦












