Camouflage, one letter, love and borrowed time


I used to think I was covert; my routine of watching the mail was a secret ritual, a reassurance, more time. But when we married, I was incessant, at first; I watched the mail daily, listened for the open screech, then the dull echo as letters dropped to the bottom of the mailbox. Your time became mine, and I was waiting, surprisingly unlike you. Each day my eyes would scan the bold blue or black letters tucked in the corner. I didn’t know you knew I was watching; waiting, pacing on the porch, fumbling the paper through my fingers, the letters, bills, and packages, bundled in my arms. And without incidence, I would count each day grace, another day without notice, another day with you, with us. After months of watching me dance this ritual, in and out the door, the clanking metal lid, you simply said, “it will come certified.”

It was then that I learned to stop watching (though honestly I still watch a little), and just live our life together, without the slow, agonizing wait. I realized I couldn’t stop living because I was waiting. I was missing out on now. I know this time, our time is borrowed, and though I’d like to borrow it forever, I’m happy with the present, even if just this moment.

If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.—Maria Edgeworth

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Categories: Misc.

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