The Final Love Letter

This is for mikeydred's Feburary challenge.

Some loves lnger in forgotten places.

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Some loves linger in forgotten places, whispering from the cracks of time, waiting for someone to listen. He had spent decades writing love letters to Rosa, his soulmate--the lost love of his life. He never received a reply--but something compelled him to write on.

Embolded by the desire to reunite, Eliot decided to bring Rosa the final letter - a confession, a testament of his undying love. The house stood in eerie silence, its windows a pair of empty eyes. The wind had died, yet it seemed to breathe on its own.

The mailbox creaked open as he slipped the letter inside. The air had the scent of damp earth and something older--something watching. As he turned to leave, the mailbox shut on its own.

The letters he had left Rosa over the decades spilled onto the ground, dog-eared, yellowed, torn...and unread.

One stood out. The ink shimmered wet, though the paper was yellow and brittle with time. A response. His name was scrawled in quivering ink. He ripped it open, his heart pounding.

Inside was a single line: "Eliot, stop writing. You were never meant to remember me." A gust of wind howled, blowing the old, creaky door open.

Eliot stepped back, his breath hitching. A flashing memory struck him, blinding, unbelievable. He had been there before. Not writing those letters, but reading them. His own handwriting, begging for help.

Some loves don't fade. They rot beneath the weight of their own lies. Rosa never left him. He had left her- beneath the floorboards of the house.

The door creaked wider. A shadow moved within. Not the past - her. Rosa. Waiting. Watching.

The letter in his hands rearranged itself, the ink bleeding into new words. "Come in." The door yawned wider, waiting.

Some letters are not written for love. They demand an answer.

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This work is NOT AI Generated. The presence of any AI Tags is unintentional.