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I sat with the old, yellowed envelope in my hand — untouched for years.
My fingers trembled, not because of the cold, but because of the memory it held.
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZvJgQrjMyR
I had written that letter to my father the night I left home — a young boy, angry, misunderstood, and broken. I never posted it.
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCY2nqnkuQB
Now, standing at his grave, I read it aloud.
"I hated you for not understanding me. But I never thanked you for the silent sacrifices. I saw your tired eyes every night. I heard your voice choke every time you told me to be strong."
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSsTtTctPcK
Tears blurred the ink.
"I wanted to become better — not to prove you wrong, but to prove you right."
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRE2e0dTtVm
The wind whispered through the trees as if he was listening.
And for the first time in years, my heart felt a little less heavy.
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ72E22w4WZP
Some letters don’t need to be sent. They just need to be read — even if only by the soul they were meant for.
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡduMVtICr8v
