What will become of them when I am gone?

All the love and passion that poured out of me put on paper.

The inner workings of my heart expressed through my handwriting.

All for you.

The piles of pages of writings I gave to you.

Love Letters.

Will you put them in a box and stow them away under your bed?

Out of sight and out of mind.

Will you remember you have those declarations of love, my heart laid bare on paper, hidden away? Will they gather dust until you move and are forced to decide what to do with them?

Will you even keep them?

Will you burn them and watch the ashes be carried off by the wind, or will you simply drop them in the recycling bin and walk away.

Once I asked you for them back. Explaining the thought of you destroying them was too much for me to bear.

And you almost handed them over.

But you stood there, overfilled bag in hand, in front of me.

You couldn’t do it. You refused to give them back.

You closed your eyes, shook your head, and pulled them into your chest.

I had to let them go.

I wrote the love letters to you. Just for you.

I may never know what becomes of them, but they are yours.