Letter
Tracing the dried ink
With the tip of my index finger
Feeling the rough texture
Of the once buttery paper
With your beautiful alphabets arranged
In perfect curves
Engraved and smudged
The paper has become frail
And has a lot of folds
Some damaged and chipped corners
But still feels anew
Everytime I get to go through
The same feeling that this letter gave me
After you gave it to me
And then after you left.
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