A Found Thing

Today I found a letter while walking. It was a break-up letter signed by a girl called Leslie, who wrote it for a boy called Troy. The penmanship was very neat. In this letter, Leslie told Troy that she no longer loved him. Post scripting the message was an apology for not having the courage to do the deed in person. Her words were sad ones, alluding to the faltered ambition of her once mighty love.

The closing sentences read:

“I know this is hard and I’m sorry.
But I have no control whether I love you or not.”

This letter was found near the law building. It was dirty and damp like a dish rag, but not so damp that it could not be opened and read. The words were penned on pink paper and I thought, “What a sweet thing – love letters on pink paper.” It was practically scented.

But break up letters on pink paper seemed slightly cruel, a trick to make him think he would read sweet words. How badly did his heart ache when he realized he was being replaced. Had he expected it? Even more, I wondered from whose hand it fell. Had it fallen from her hand before she could deliver it? I imagined her distress upon arriving to leave it for him only to discover it missing. Would she write another? Would she again use pink paper? Maybe she no longer had the resolve to leave him.

Either way, this thing existed, this departing proof that something once flourished between two people. These two people. Leslie and Troy. Signed by Leslie ironically “with love.”

There it was in my hands, stomped on and dejected like broken hearts.

I folded it and put it in my backpack.

Walking back to the office I watched for other relics, treasures and confessions, but found none. No, it was early and there was nothing at all to do and nothing to see. I was looking for my friend, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere. I wanted to tell her about the letter. I wanted to tell her that I missed her. I wanted to talk about the dead squirrel someone on my street outlined in chalk, which, like the letter, was a terrible thing.