He’d held the letter through sun, storm, snow, through countless bus rides and one flight, through sleeping on beaches, on benches, in king-sized beds. He’d nearly lost it twice: once in a poker game and once to a mugger. It was unopened. He was waiting.
He walked the last few miles. He felt numb. The first thing he did when he got home was shower. Then he slept for a day.
When he woke, he looked. He checked his pockets and secret hiding places. It was gone.
In his head he could see it, lying there, waiting to be read
Photo courtesy of the lovely Julie Lavelle.