just because

She smiles bravely and
reads the old letters, the
old
notes. They make her feel
wanted, loved,
needed, even though he
may not need her, anymore. She
doesn’t dwell too long on that,
because,
well,
just because. She thinks instead
about the first
times she read
what he wrote and
she warms herself with
that idea, of him writing, which is so soft
and
gentle
that she can feel the words almost
as he
writes them. They do come alive
for moments, seconds,
times too fleeting
to
settle her soul, to comfort her heart. But
she is willing to suffer them
in that way, like that, because,
well,
just
because.