My aunt sent me a letter within a letter.
When I opened the envelope,
I found a second envelope
and a brief note:
Open this one week before your wedding.
The sealed letter was thick and heavy.
My aunt always wrote on thin paper,
her handwriting neat and tiny.
I wondered what could fill so many pages,
then tucked it away
and carried it with me for years.
In time, I fell in love,
and our marriage was arranged.
Two weeks before the wedding,
I met with an accident.
While I fought for my life in the hospital,
the wedding was called off.
When I finally regained consciousness,
my aunt came to see me.
I asked whether I should read the letter.
With tears in her eyes,
she shook her head.
“Burn it,” she said.
When I returned home,
I fed the unopened letter to the flames.
Even now,
I wonder what was written inside,
and why it had to remain unread.
