A Letter for the Letters that Saved my Summer

I held all your papers closely,
Ink to parchment, heart in chest.
I wrote messily,
No regard to the pressure my hand was applying;
The table shook, and so did you,
At the meaning my words held,
at the memories they brought.

The force on the table indented my hand.
A phantom pain remains from the sting,
from my letter opener piecing my skin.

But when I use the same scar covered hands
To unfold the paper,
To explore your intent,
To re-read all your words,
It's softer.
Calmer.

My chest in turn surrenders the pride,
And the bitterness that I held for all those months.
When I re-read all your words,
I am reminded of the better person I must become.
I am reminded of the letters that saved my summer.