Frida | ✕

p.o. box #22855

if he would have said that
they actually met because the
mailman had accidentally be
sending his letters
into hers

no one would believe

his p.o box # is a number
less than hers for each
number.

his is 1, hers is 2
his is 7, hers is 8
his is 4, hers is 5

but somehow his letters
always ended up in
hers

" i think i got few mails
wrong."

she said, on the first day of their
physical contact.
" actually i've been getting
a lot of few wrong
mails lately."

he stood there, fuming
his electricity and water bills
his telephone bills
every bills; they all are
missing.

" hey, i was here first. pardon."
he glanced at the girl and she
shrugged it off.
" how can all my mails
be missing?"
he watched from the corner of
his eyes, the girl took a seat

holding a rubber band-tied
stack of letters
her feet taping to an
invisible
rhyme she was humming to

the man scratched his head,
" i'm not quite sure, mr--"

" höwedes." he said, flatly.

" mr. höwedes, can i have your
postal box number, bitte?"
the man asked.
" ja, ja," he said,
" it's 11744."

he waited for the man to
do his works, typing on
the computer, " that's weird
we have a log of your letters.
they are all have been sent to--"
the man grew silence.

" what?"

" they have been logged into
a wrong box."

the man in the soft blue
cotton shirt sighed loudly
running his hand along
his jaw
" how?"

" how can it happen?"

" we apologise for
this mess, mr höwedes."
the man seemed to mean it
as he apologised
" somehow the letters had been
put in box number 22855."

" yes?"

both men turned to the girl,
who's now standing up.
" what?" she asked,
looking confused now.
" i heard my box number
being called?"

he jerked his eyebrows up,
" your box number?"

she nodded.

" you said 22855 right?"
she walked towards them,
her mary jane clicking
on the floor and she
leaned over the counter.

" so you have my letters?"

she frowned, " wait what-- oh,"
she held up the
letters to
him
" this is yours?"

he nodded as he flipped
through it, his name and
p.o box number and
address stamped on it.

"how can there be mixed up?"
she asked , looking at the man
the man turned to his computer,
and shook his head.

"apparently your box-"
he glanced at the man

" -is above your box." he
glanced at the lady.

" thank you, mr mailer."
she flashed him a awkward
grin, quickly heading for
the entrance, bell rang
as she left.

so he ran

" hey. hey you yes-"
she stopped.
" -you with the
pantyhose and that mary
jane."
she turned

" what's your name?"

he asked, closing the distance
between them.
" apparently not as famous
as yours." she huffed,
blowing some of the
cold wind.

" so you know me?"

" little bit of this and that."

" well what's your name then?"
he asked again, shifting
on his foot.

" frida."

"frida?"

she smiled, " yes, after the
painter."

he frowned again, " so
you are famous."
she laughed, "so you
know me?"
she played along

the truth is, he didn't
know who's the
painter she was
named
after

and he couldn't
contain his
grin back, shrugging
feeling as warmth started
to creep on his ears and
cheeks

she could stand and took her
time (all of them) to just
count the stars
spreading
on his face right now

and the way his tongue
rolled out her name
has awaken
the stars in hers as she
laughed

" well, a little bit of this
and that too, frida."