I went through my most prized collection this night,
the letters you wrote to the love of your life,
protected from the outer world in a battered envelope,
fraying at the edges,
a dirty white.
Horribly faded and slightly indecipherable,
I scanned to the ones that seem still quite fresh,
it smelt like you do when you visit me in my dreams,
a bit blurred in my memory but still just as sweet.
Your handwriting I traced with the nib of my pen,
to bring to life your words if not you,
each curve and each line I handled with delicacy,
not daring to mess up a single dot,
not allowing the tears to stain.
My mind could have sworn I heard your voice,
clear as day and addressed to me,
speaking in soothing tones and whispering loving words,
as you wrote to a world in which I was still unborn.
I went through my most prized collection this night,
the letters you wrote to the love of your life.
