#singasongofslaughter

It had been so many years. He had lost track of the years, but it was something big. He was older, much older. And he still had the big pile upon his desk. Letters, they were, penned in his hand. It was to the same boy he had left and never planned to miss. Roger, the raven-haired boy who he made a small connection to. So small and meaningless but it carried through all his days. He knew not where to send them all, or why he was going to send them all, but he knew he was going to send them all. To Roger. From Ralph. Yours sincerely Ralph. Yours lovingly Ralph. All a pile of old confessions, written weekly by his shaky hand. And he hoped he could get them to Roger somehow. Somehow.