A Letter
There are so many things I never told you. Not because I didn't want to, but because I thought I had more time. But time ran out, didn't it? Now, as I sit in this car, watching the road stretch endlessly ahead, I find myself talking to you in my head, hoping that somehow, somewhere, you can still hear me. The road reminds me of all the times you picked me and my brother from school. We'd squeeze into the car, our backpacks shoved between us, exhaustion from the day still heavy in our limbs. You'd hum an old tune under your breath, the windows down, the scent of trees and rain lingering from the afternoon. Somehow, you made even those ordinary rides feel special, like they were more than just a routine, like they were moments worth holding on to. Back then, I thought you'd always be there. I thought you were like a mountain, unshakeable and permanent. But mountains erode, don't they? And stars, no matter how bright, eventually fade. Even now, I still see you ever...
