Incoherent Thoughts Organized Into Neat Paragraphs

A Dying Industry

I think mail is a lot like love
A dying industry.

But I still get incredibly excited when I open the mailbox and there is something with my name on it.

But usually it's from someone who wants something from me.
So I sit at home waiting for the real love to arrive.

The thing about love and the mail is
if you want to receive it you have to send it.
So I send all my friends letters.
Brightly colored envelopes, loopy handwriting, stickers,
as if to say
DONT FORGET I LOVE YOU.
Some write back
Some dont
Some get returned, unopened.

I guess some people don't want to pay the price for stamps.

Ms. Angie, The 80 year old woman I used to live next to in Michigan sends me letters all the time
asking me how I am,
How's school?
I miss having kids on this street.
Do you ever thing you'll move back?
Have you got a boyfriend yet?
This is how she sends love.

She told me she wants to be buried with all of the letters her late husband had written her.
He wrote her love letters everyday for over 50 years.
Slid one across the kitchen table.
Left one on the night stand.
Doodled her face on a napkin.
Sliped one in her pocket.

This is how I want to leave love.
Tucked into all the places I have been.
Scattered behind me
Like bread crumbs.

If all that is left of me is the letters I left and the words I said,
I want people to be able to say
"Look,
Look how much she loved."