Anymore,
     some days, I make it to the mailbox
     and some days, I don't.
     But,
     I can remember, when there was a time
     I used to stand at the end of my driveway,
     cussing and tapping my foot,
     when the mailman was three minutes late
     when all I wanted was to receive my news
     so I could hold his letter in my hands and smile
     seeing my name in small cursive letters
     with a little red heart to dot the "i"
     when I wouldn't even dream of opening it,
     until I got into the house.

     where I'd sit with it, at my desk,
     before slowly unfolding it,
     my heart pounding in my chest,
     anticipating his words
     and knowing they would make my whole week.
     Words of love...
     Words of 'missing you'....
     Sweet words on the thinnest pale paper,
     that I would always hold up to my face
     hoping to catch a whiff of a familiar scent.
     Neat, perfectly looped words
     evenly spaced
     and written just for me.

     always uplifting
     always something new to learn
     always a deeper emotion to feel.