It is nothing to an ordinary eye.

Another scrap in the day to day sea of 

documents.  

It is a sheet of paper. 

Folded.

Creased. 

Pen bleeding through to the other side.

And yet this piece of paper has seen more

than many will see in their whole lifetime.

It has traveled across the country,

and by some miracle,

that piece of paper made it to me, 

and that’s all that matters.

It survived the travel, 

it survived the conditions it was 

written under. 

And now here it sits,

a mix of therapy and a love letter

all in one.

And written neatly at the bottom of 

that piece of paper,

that’s folded nearly in my hands, 

the words I waited for the whole time that

he was gone;

“I love you.”