Years in Envelopes

I was sitting with my back against the wall and the box open beside me and a letter in my hands. Not reading it. Just holding it. The paper was cream-colored and the handwriting was looped and careful and the envelope had my name on it in a hand that had been writing my name for years.

He knocked twice on the open door.

Looked at me. At the box. At the letters.

He didn't say anything.

He came in a