The Mailbox


She blinked her deep green eyes against the harsh midday light

The wind blew her hair away from her neck and face

Her dress tapped lightly against her knees as she walked

Her bare shoulders glistened bronze in the sun

The walk from the porch to the mailbox was long and suspenseful

Dust kicked up in the breeze and then dissipated

Her light blue sandals crunched against the dry earth and stone

She stepped to the other side of the old dirt road

She opened the rusted door slowly

Letting the light from the afternoon sun seep in

The old metal mailbox contained one letter

She reached her delicate hand inside

The tips of her fingers touched the yellowed, crinkled envelope

The paper was soft and stiff at the same time

The ink impressions could be felt through the back of the paper

The letters curled softly in loops and swirls

It wasn’t what she had expected

Months had been spent in this way

Anticipation, suspense, uncertainty

Some days were met with gratification

Others with disappointment

Today, it had been both

A tear drop fell on the bright white paper

The sun dried it before it barely had a chance to sink in

Her hands began to tremble, her knees felt weak

Her throat tightened, her lungs gasped for air

Her eyes burned and her heart pounded

This would be the last

She stared at the mailbox

This couldn’t be the last

So many words, so many letters

So many days, so many weeks

The mailbox had been a gateway

The mailbox had been a link

He wrote her, she wrote him

The lines of communication never severed

Their connection only growing stronger

She read through the letter again

The words sinking in, the pain digging deeper

Her body was too heavy, she sank to her knees

Her white dress now spotted with brown dust

The song of birds, the sway of trees

The brightness of day, the hum of a car

Dust flew around her as the car came to a halt

The Captain stepped out and knelt beside her

Her hero was gone

The mailbox stood empty


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