In the lingering dark, only a small, thin gap at the top of the box allows in light. The light is harsh, aged, yellowing, it fails to illuminate the box, hiding the contents whilst the remain locked inside. One, a single small figure remains indistinguishable from its fellow, its importance not yet noted, not yet realised. Hidden in the crowd, it is unappreciated.
The groan of metal signifies the box is being unlocked, the door bends slightly as someone pressed their hand against, glancing in the slit at the top.
The key turns.
Light rushes in, flooding the cage, washing out the identities of the contents with the vicious, yellowed light. A hand appears. It grasps them roughly, scooping them all together, and gathering them into a rough pile, gripping them without a care. Paper bends under the fingers, it crumples slightly.
The letters are flung on to a table to wilt all day, discarded and forgotten.
I return late that night, entering the flat to see a small brown envelope waiting patiently for me on the table, looking expectantly at the door. It seems so small and understated amongst the white, official demands that surround it. I lift the envelope up and cannot help the smile that forms when I note the small, pointed handwriting. I know this hand, I know the writing on the envelope and I know the day has just improved exponentially.
The smile only widens as I open the envelope, tearing the seam along the top with barely disguised impatience. A sense of longing halts my fingers as I don't open the card, only look at the cover and smile softly to myself. I am tired, and done, and simply want my bed, but bed is not what is missing from me at this moment.
I read the card, and I laugh. Quietly, but I can't restrain it as it bubbles out of the cracks of my person, joy spilling over the edges and pooling on the kitchen floor. Four words are all that is need to reduce me to a smiling fool, to wash away all the bad from the day:
"All my love,