Penman's Last Letter

Characters:

Narrator – serves as the voice of memory and transition; reads parts of Mark’s reflections aloud.

Mark / The Penman – an elderly man with beautiful handwriting but frail hands; sits at a desk writing the letter.

Nora – a woman in her late thirties or forties, reading Mark’s letter after many years; she reacts quietly but deeply.

Setting: 

A dimly lit stage divided into two spaces.

Left side: A small desk with an old lamp and a fountain pen. Papers are neatly stacked. Mark (the Penman) sits, writing slowly and carefully.

Right side: Nora sits on a simple chair, holding an envelope. Soft afternoon light filters through. She opens the letter.

Mood:

Quiet, melancholic, but gentle — the feeling of closure.

Soft piano or violin music plays faintly in the background.

[Scene opens]

(Lights rise slowly. The faint sound of a fountain pen scratching across paper.)

Narrator (softly):

He was, after all, a penman —

one of the last who still believed that words could carry grace.

Even when his hands trembled, he wrote with care,

as though each letter were a prayer.

(Mark dips his pen into ink and begins to write. His voice joins the narrator’s.)

Mark (writing, softly):

My dearest Nora,

Your letter came when I least expected it.

I read it slowly, over and over,

trying to hear your voice again through every line.

It brought back so many memories —

quiet ones I thought I had already put away.

(Nora looks down, opens the envelope, and begins reading.)

Narrator:

He had written many letters before —

to friends, to strangers, even to the dead —

but never one like this.

Mark (continuing):

Nora, I need to be honest with you.

My love for you was not real.

What I felt back then was pity, not love.

You were in pain, and I wanted to make things better for you.

(He stops, his hand trembling. The pen drips ink onto the page.)

Mark (softly):

Maybe I confused my kindness with affection.

Maybe I just didn’t want to see you suffer.

And for that, I’m sorry —

because you deserved someone who loved you for who you are,

not for what you went through.

Nora (whispers, trembling):

Sorry…?

Narrator:

She had once thought his words were beautiful —

the way his handwriting curved like music on the page.

Now, they cut like truth.

Mark (writing slowly):

Reading your words now,

I feel the weight of guilt I’ve carried all these years.

I shouldn’t have let you believe in something that wasn’t real.

I should’ve been braver to tell you the truth when it mattered.

You didn’t deserve a half-hearted love.

(Mark stops writing and opens a small box. He looks at something inside — an old ribbon, or photo — before setting it down.)

Mark:

I’ll be sending back what you gave me.

It doesn’t belong with me anymore,

and I think you should have it back.

(He seals the envelope carefully. The sound of the envelope closing echoes.)

Narrator:

He paused, his hand resting on the paper,

feeling the slow rhythm of a heart that had written too many goodbyes.

Mark (softly):

Thank you, Nora —

for the little kindness and warmth you once shared with me.

(Lights dim on Mark. Nora now fully in light, reading the letter aloud to herself.)

Nora (reading softly):

Still, I hope life has been kind to you.

I hope you find someone who will love you fully and honestly —

someone who will stay, not out of pity,

but because their heart truly chooses you.

(She lowers the letter, her eyes filled with both pain and understanding.)

Nora (gently):

And I hope, in time… you can forget me and forgive me.

(Soft pause. The music fades slightly. Mark looks up from his desk, gazing toward the distance — as though sensing her across time.)

Mark (voice fading):

Take care of yourself, Nora.

You’ve been through enough.

Let peace finally find you.

(Nora presses the letter to her chest. Mark closes his eyes. The light fades from both sides, leaving only the narrator’s voice.)

Narrator (quietly):

And with that final line,

the penman laid down his pen —

his last letter written not in ink,

but in regret… and release.

(Soft piano chord. Lights fade to black.)

Actual Letter:

My dearest Nora,

Your letter came when I least expected it. I read it slowly, over and over, trying to hear your voice again through every line. It brought back so many memories — quiet ones I thought I had already put away.

Nora, I need to be honest with you. My love for you was not real. What I felt back then was pity, not love. You were in pain, and I wanted to make things better for you. Maybe I confused my kindness with affection. Maybe I just didn’t want to see you suffer. And for that, I’m sorry — because you deserved someone who loved you for who you are, not for what you went through.

Reading your words now, I feel the weight of guilt I’ve carried all these years. I shouldn’t have let you believe in something that wasn’t real. I should’ve been braver to tell you the truth when it mattered. You didn’t deserve a half-hearted love.

I’ll be sending back what you gave me. It doesn’t belong with me anymore, and I think you should have it back. Thank you, Nora — for the little kindness and warmth you once shared with me.

Still, I hope life has been kind to you. I hope you find someone who will love you fully and honestly — someone who will stay, not out of pity, but because their heart truly chooses you. And I hope, in time, you can forget me and forgive me.

Take care of yourself, Nora. You’ve been through enough. Let peace finally find you.

Always,
Mark