It was an old coffee tin with rust covering most of it.
He sat on the bed and opened it to find yellowing pages covered in an unintelligible scrawl. They were so old that they were disintegrating along the creases. He couldn’t understand what was stranger; the fact that she had kept them for so long or that someone had spent so much time writing them.
“What’s this?” He asked her as she entered the room.
“They’re letters your grandfather wrote to me.”
“Why didn’t he just type them?”
She laughed and ruffled the hair on her grandson’s teenage head.
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Tagged childhood, children, generation gap, grandparents, handwritten, letters, love, love story, memory, old, technology
It had been 7 years.
In that time she had gotten to know the postman quite well. They chatted almost daily as he went past her house on his rounds.
It always started with the shake of his head and then he’d watch her face fall.
He didn’t like to see her sad. He would give her the moon and the stars but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Everyday, he conjured the courage to ask her out and everyday he failed to say the words.
The stack of undelivered letters grew taller in the bottom drawer of his desk.