Arthur's mother had always told him that letters would find the person who was meant to see them. Staring at the small white envelope on the table, he could only hope that it was true. He'd started writing letters to his little brother about a year ago. Sadly, this would be his last letter.

As he looked at the letter, he thought about the words it contained.

Dear Alfred,

As you know, I'm never really sure how to start these letters. Well... Let me start by saying that I miss you. I haven't seen you in years. Things are getting better here, though. Matthew just graduated from college. Isn't that great? I'm happy for him. Anyway... Getting to the point of this letter, I just want to talk about how things use to be. Because I suppose that's what I miss the most.

Springs were always a nice time of year. The flowers were always blooming, and even that little garden you had in the backyard managed to survive through the winter. When I look back in the picture album, I have to say that my fondest photograph is of the one when you were only... Maybe... Five years old. You probably remember the photo. You were splashing around in the puddles with your little ducky rain boots, and you have the biggest grin on your face. You must've been laughing. It was raining, but I remember that day hadn't been cold. My second favorite is the one that was taken on the same day. We had gone to the park, and there was a family of ducks. You had fun chasing the ducklings around, and I know that's what the picture is of, but eventually the mother duck got angry and you came over to me crying. Even that was cute, though. You only wanted to play with the ducks.

Summers were always so refreshing. You would spend the day outside, playing with your friends, but every Saturday, we would go for ice cream. You always got so excited. Cookie dough was your favorite. That's what you got every time we went; cookie dough ice cream in a waffle cone. I remember asking you why once, and you only responded with, "Because when somethin' is so good why would I wanna change it?" I suppose that was as good of an answer as any. My favorite picture from summer is the one of you on the tire swing out front. I had debated even keeping that thing up when we bought the house, but I'm glad I did. It got a lot of use. You even convinced me to go on it a few times. Though, I know I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as you did. The rope rotted off a few months ago. I didn't bother putting it back up.

Fall was always nice. My favorite photograph is the one where you were trying to hide in my pile of leaves. Your head was sticking out, but you had no clue. You were giggling so hard I think I would've found you, anyway. I believe we were playing hide and seek. Of course, I acted like I didn't know where you were, until you jumped out, and I would act surprised, or scared, and it would make you laugh. Then you would help me rake the leaves back up. I'm sure you remember Charlie. That stray dog that followed you home one day? He was filthy, soaked to the bone, and smelled awful, but I didn't have the heart to tell you that you weren't allowed to keep the little mutt. He's still here. It's funny how things work. I always thought of him as your dog.

I hated winters... But I know you loved them as a child. What child doesn't? I think my favorite photo is the one of your very first snowman. You were hugging him, with that same grin on your face that's in a lot of the pictures. You said his name could be Elvis. I'm not even sure where you heard the name from, but I wasn't going to tell you no. He was your snowman, after all. I also remember all the snow ball fights that I let you win, and the forts that we built together. Snowmen were always my favorite to build, though. Do you remember when we built that snow family outside in front of the oak tree? You were so sad when they started to melt. I remember telling you that we could rebuild them when it snowed again. Then there were the weekend morning cartoons and breakfasts. Sometimes I still watch cartoons on the weekends. ...sometimes I still make breakfast for two. I never eat what would've been yours, though. I can't bring myself to.

I'm writing this letter because I want you to be happy. I know there were a lot of bad times, and rough patches. I know I was strict sometimes, as well. But I just want to let you know that it was because I love you. I want to let you know that I'll always think that the bad times were worth the good ones. I want you to read this and remember the good times, too. I want you to know that I'd give anything just to have those moments back. ...to have more time.

This will be my last letter. Matthew says that this isn't healthy. I started writing these to get things off my chest, but I always want to turn to pleasant conversation. Even though I know that I'll never get a visit, or phone call, or letter in return. I want to ask you how you are. If you're happy. ...and it hurts that I can't. So, all I can do is make sure you have at least one letter that makes you happy. One to look back on.

I love you. I miss you.

Love Always,

Arthur

Arthur picked up the letter from the table. It wasn't addressed, as always. After a moment, he sighed softly, and threw it into the fireplace. He watched all the paper slowly turn to ash, and smiled sadly in slight relief.

His mother had always told him that letters would find the person who was meant to see them. He could only hope that they reached Heaven, too.