Love Letters – A Poem

I met one

of my neighbours

coming into my

building. We said

hello and smiled

at each other.

I held the

door open for

her. She smiled

even more brightly.

“I wonder if the mail has come yet.”

She said, with

a soft anticipation

to her voice.

“Are you expecting something?”

I asked her.

She nodded and

her eyes were

big and hopeful.

“Oh, yes. A letter from the man I love. He sends me one every few days or so.”

I was warmed

by what she

said and knew

well the powers

that love had.

“That’s beautiful.”

I told her.

“Oh yes, it was so hard to lose him. He’s been gone since 1954, you see.”

That stopped me

short. I looked

at her and

could only see

sincerity on her

face. She took

out her key

and opened her

mailbox. I held

my breath, just

as she did.

A letter, yellow

with age, sat

inside. She plucked

up the envelope

and clutched it

to her chest.

“Oh, he wrote to me! He knows that I worry if I don’t hear from him every few days.”

She opened the

envelope and pulled

out a few

sheets of paper.

They were covered

with a spidery

script that looked

like musical notes

instead of writing.

She traced a

finger along the

letters. She saw

me looking at

her and smiled.

“When I trace the letters, it’s almost as if I can hear him speaking them aloud to me. While having his words is a comfort, I do miss the sound of his voice.”

My heart ached

for her, living

without the man

that she loved.

“I thought you said that he had died in 1954.”

I said, gently.

She nodded, still

tracing the letters

on the page.

“Yes, that’s right.”

She said softly.

“He’s been gone ever so long, but I don’t feel so alone, not with his words.”

She smiled, holding

the letter to her

chest once more.

“But that letter can’t be from him. Not if he died so long ago.”

I told her.

Her eyes became

wide and she

looked at me

with kind eyes.

With one hand,

reached out and

patted my shoulder.

“Do you think time or space or death can stop true love? Those that love us are never truly gone. Their words just find us in a different way.”

She closed her

mailbox and, still

clutching the letter,

gave me another

smile. All I

felt from her

was joy. As

she turned to

go, she began

to hum a

tune and It

was as if

I could see

the notes she

sung floating

in the air

behind her.