2008-11-13 - 4:44 p.m. It was the second hand love letters that won her back. The faded, yellow, soft sheets unlined with light blue cursive writing soaked deep into the fibers; edges blurred. His grandmother's letters, received from someone who was not his grandfather. A man he never met but who he knew. A man who wrote about his weak hands made strong by her. Who wrote of honeysuckle, moonlight, pale skin, soft hair, shoulder blades like glass cutting through her summer dress, fragile bones needing blanketing. He found the letters after his grandmother's death, kept them as a secret until feeling something bend and break between them he showed her. Watching her read slowly, careful with the pages, he made dinner and she stayed. previous - next