November 1, 2013
There is a house painted blue, the windows are always shut and the door rarely opens. When the boy goes out all he ever really does is check his mailbox. He walks towards it and pokes his hand inside, gets nothing, stares at space for a few seconds, and I swear, I can hear him sigh even if I am five houses away. I like this routine we have. Well, he doesn't know I'm watching him but it's familiar, this everyday certainty. And I like rooting for him, that one day he will finally get that letter he's waiting for.