A compass, an anchor, a rock

January 20, 2019

A stack of mismatched letters that journeyed on a mission across lands and seas, fueled by the warm messages they carried inside. Many are now patinaed by the soft brush of time. I look at my dad's fine penmanship, my mom's delicate font. I feel their vivid presence in front of me, defying time and distance. I see their beloved faces, hear their cherished voices, expressions of love and yearning, accounts of daily life, news of family, friends, and country, words of advice and caution, insistent pleas for a short separation, fervent blessings and wishes.

A stack of mismatched patinaed papers to a casual onlooker. To me, a compass, an anchor, a rock.

 

 

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