A Letter Folded In Golden Hues

A letter folded in golden hues

Lay quiet beneath the evening light,

Edges kissed by a sinking sun,

Holding whispers too soft for night.

Its paper breathed of distant days,

Of laughter pressed between each line,

Of words once warm upon the tongue

Now resting still in ink and time.

I traced its creases, slow and sure,

As though they mapped a fragile heart,

Each fold a pause, a hidden sigh,

A place where endings dared to start.

The amber glow upon its face

Turned silence into something kind,

As if the past, in tender grace,

Had chosen not to leave behind.

What secrets sleep in folded gold?

What truths between those margins stay?

Perhaps not meant for voice or sound,

But for the soul to read one day.

So I held it close, that quiet note,

Not seeking more than what it gave—

A fleeting warmth, a gentle ache,

A memory time could never brave.