While you were drinking your old life to its lease, Loco had been skirting through his quarters inside.
Asking God for a sign, you had almost thought of leaving the man you once ditched, alone. Just then, the old shabby guy here produces torn, faded letters that your first love wrote to him.
"Not a many but still a treasure from an old friend." Loco says, smiling, handing the "treasure" over, he plops down to verge forward in his own sweet reverie perhaps.
You take the letters, they're damp, torn and washed off, yet they reek of 'him'. Someone as obsessed in delusions as you, might think of such absurdity.
With a sigh, you begin your rummage through this hoard of memory.
He'd reached safely, he had written in the first. He slept on the street the first night, however he said he'd meet good people, they had paid for the letter as well. He was sure days ahead were going to be illuminating.
The next letter was to inform that he'd joined a hotel as a junior helper/chef and was doing well. He asked of you, just how you were. He asked if your daddy was better.
So he had known. He had known why you couldn't go. But did he forgive?
More so, did he forget?
You were the one who forgot him though. Loco had kept more evidence of him than you even had in your memory. If you wanted, wouldn't you have kept contact? You feel a pang of guilt as well as jealousy surge through you.
Oblivion was soothing till then, but not now.
The last letter he sent was from some twenty years ago. For some reason, he meant to write this as a definite parting from this town and its people.
The letter informed of him marrying a sweet girl and becoming the sous chef at a big restaurant. That he's got a comfortable home and a garden.
He wrote he was finally content to have made the journey across countries, now after looking at his wife, job and house; now he could say so.
He hadn't mentioned you this time. Also not his new postal address. Loco wondered why he hadn't written any more, maybe he had enough of a town that wasn't quite welcoming and nice to an orphan.
Maybe, now a respectable adult he wanted to leave his earlier distress behind.
