My Cardboard Balcony

I found the unopened letter my father had written me in the bottom drawer of an old dresser, which hadn't been used in years, and had been collecting dust and ornate cobwebs in the garage right next to my brother's forgotten Stratocaster and my mother's bottle collection. Once I discovered it, however, I didn't bother to fetch a letter opener or use my nails. I just let it sit, sealed, on my cluttered desk for another six years before finally deciding to bite the bullet.