Things made of paper are traps. Not like a flypaper trap where the glue is noticeable and obvious. No. Regular paper is more devious, insidious, and conniving. We touch it once and immediately begin to question. What to do with it? Of course, we first must make a decision before we take action.
How do we feel about the words on the paper? Do those words really mean anything to us? Do they affect us? Could we just ignore the words? Just ignore the paper all together? Let the paper lie in a stack of other papers until it becomes dusty and yellow, until it becomes some artifact of a forgotten era.
Long after our passing, the paper will be looked upon by some distant relative brought in to separate the wheat from the chaff, the valuable from the junk. What would this person think when reading these same words? Would they quickly toss the paper in the trash? Would they call someone and remark, “Guess what I found?”
Perhaps you are the only person in the world who can fully appreciate the meaning of the words as they gently reveal a change of heart, a bridge of understanding. So, for the umpteenth time you unfold the letter and allow the words to dance through your blurred, tear-soaked vision.
‘I really am sorry’, it says. ‘I love you.’
So you refold the paper and cry. But you do not throw it away. No. You will touch it again and again, stuck like a fly.
Brenda Bishop Blakey