Love letters, written long ago, put away for safekeeping, sit undiscovered, the parchment yellowed from time, the rose petals dried. The words carry from this place, drifting through time, not bound by the paper, but only by the heart. They continue to speak, but only to those for whom the words were written.
Someone may find them and read the words written in love. Will they wonder about the people in the letters, who they were and what they were like. Maybe they will be given a small picture of someone who once was, who loved and was loved.
I’m planning to copy my words to journals. I want something I can hold in my hand, so that as time passes, I can remember all the words I wrote, or something, just maybe, I can give to you should fortune smile my way. If not, I will pack them away, with the rose petals as a record of my love. The words will always be there, drifting through time, words only for you.