Ordinary Things #1 - Post Box

Your gift giving used to be so much more romantic. I waited then with bated breath to see what would be tucked inside. Most often intimate thoughts in the form of letters or perhaps art created just for me. I ran to you daily. I couldn’t wait. It was always a surprise to see what you had for me in the years before instantaneous everything. But now we both live in a time when intimacies are strewn on internet highways like litter; everyone can see them and nobody cares. Our honeymoon is over. Like gifts at Christmas when sapphires give way to vacuum cleaners. Or in marriage, when once a day becomes once in a while. You bring me nothing any more save some scraps. A coupon that I will never need. Something that was mine in the first place. An ask rather than an offering. And, frankly, I don’t know which came first anymore– your failure to deliver or my lack of curiosity. Either way, it’s time to finally say it. I know you oil your hinges and I’m just not interested in lifting your lid any more.

Post Box