Tattered, forgotten in a drawer.
A pale, pink envelope.
Obliterated with once known anticipation.
A tear through the return address,
Once so hard to find. 

I slide out the worn letter as tears well in my eyes.
Perfect penmanship,
I knew it was all a face,
Trying not to show the pain it brought.
I feel the sorrow in those words,
From a loss of a not forgotten son,
and it all comes rushing back to me.

Pain
Confusion
Family
All too hard to forget.

I close the tattered envelope,
And tuck it away again.
Maybe if I tuck it far enough,
The sorrow will never reach me.
The memory of the not forgotten son is here always.
Something to remember,
Something to change.