It had been read, read again, and re-read. He could recite it. He still opened it unfolded its dirty creases sniffed the long absent odor of her perfume, strained to recall the features of her face. They had dreamt of marriage of children, of a future. Those dreams lost, floating away soaked in the bloodied waters of a Normandy beach. 1/6/2021 The Last Love Letter Poetry Contest