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“You are Golden.”


Scribbled on a yellow-stained piece of paper



Wrinkled, crumpled up, worn out




In an envelope, folded once





Sealed






With an antique red sticker







That’s just about lost its stick

In the otherwise empty drawer


Of the passed down oak wood table

Whenever she needs it


She goes



Takes it out




Opens it up





Reads it





Feels it





Remembers it





Remembers him- Her father

But she will never go back-








She can’t

So she looks down


And reads



Dreams

“You are Golden.”





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