Where my letter went

Another short story....


1. Where my letter went

I wonder where my letter went. I let it fly from my hand and release into the wild. Will I see it again? Will I be able to read the words I wrote three years ago? Will I be able to view my writing, the way it looked on the paper, the way I crafted the letters that day?

            It was a windy day when I told the blowing air to take care of the letter. He took it where he knew I wanted it to fly, even if I didn’t know myself where I wanted it to go. The wind did; I know he did. I remember him, the wind, releasing it from my fingertips and holding it in the air. It seemed to hover, as I whispered my farewells to the words. Then the wind took it away.

            Who will read it? Am I the last person to have read it? Is it now non-existent? Has it be demolished in dancing flames? Is it floating along the dusty ground of America? Is it swimming in the sea, the ink bled out of the paper a long time ago?

            What if someone does pick it up and reads it, I wonder. Will they be English, or will they have to translate the message? Do they think about the letter now and again? I wonder what they thought of it. I wonder if they’re going to try and find me.

            I remember what I wrote, the exact words, the style. I remember I’d told them that I want to love them, regardless the fact that I don’t know them. I told them to find me. I told them where I live. And I signed my name.

            Will they find me? I don’t know: we’ll see.

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