365 Prompt: November 28 2017

I turn the page:

The handwritten letter was shock enough. I can’t remember ever having seen his handwriting.

Maybe once… when he was teaching me French.

A ghastly language.

As I turn the page, I can’t wait to read the rest, so I let my eyes scan down and come to rest on the final sentence.

Is anything really final?

We’ve said goodbye so many times I don’t believe in them anymore.

“Am I too late?” it says.

I laugh out loud at the absurdity of it.

Yes, I think.

But then I wonder.

Is anything ever too late?


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