An old tin box rusted slightly with roses that have faded gently at the corners,
Soft hands tenderly lift the box onto her lap, the key turned slowly and the lid lifted.

Inside the letters bound in a ribbon that at one time was a bright pretty red, the pages curling at the edges and the writing faded and hard to read.

From inside that box a rush of memories and feelings come flying at her, she closes her eyes and slow tears fall, a few drops added to the old stains already there.

If she opened the pages she would read his words and again be with him as he sat in the bush with the gunfire around him and wrote his feelings and love down on the pages he sent to her.

She runs her finger over the paper and suddenly his hand seems to cover her hand, she feels the warmth seep into her soul and his eyes are suddenly smiling into her as he stands her up and takes her into his arms, they dance and twirl and he smiles.

She sighs and gently closes the box, the letters still the same, the ribbon still perfect and in place, she has every word he wrote in there, but her eyes don't need to see them, her heart remembers them too well.

So many years after he never returned as he promised, the words still connect him to her soul as it would do again.....one day, she feels it in her heart.