The Letter

She held on to a single letter,
nothing else mattered.
She kept his words in a box and examined them from time to time.
A box full of other letters from another world.
Seeping through the seams, suffocating.
She kept hold of that single letter
as a reminder of a love once,
before the war,
before his boots were covered in gunpowder,
before the terrors came to life.
She held on to that single letter,
dated with yellow tint, ragged edges, fragile, but powerful in depth.
Written rapidly in a moment of such a love that couldn't compare.
That letter of love, before his death.