Folded Letters

In brittle paper, folded tight,

her handwriting blurs in fading light.

Ink shaky, curling edges worn,

a debt of silence I have borne.

Words passed down like whispered ghosts,

shadows clutching stubborn hosts.

Not mine to choose, this tangled line,

a legacy too sharp to untwine.

I hold the letter, heavy, slight,

the weight of what I cannot fight.

Inheritance—a quiet claim,

a flickering, unspoken flame.