The Postman

She still has them! She still keeps them! And she actually lied to her boyfriend about what they were, just so she could keep them, just so he wouldn't read them, just so she could keep..... something. Something unattainable, something that's a mystery, and something that's even a travesty. And something more, something deep inside, something that lingers and tugs at the breast of her chest. Something that keeps her throat tight at times. Something that keeps a small hole in her heart. Something that brings forth a pain and delight in her soul and mind. It's me, it's all me, the old me, and someone still in there, trying to get out. Is it something she is trying to rediscover? Or is it something..... more. What do I mean to people? I guess I can tell you this, it's all embodied in this gesture, in these ideas, in these letters. I don't know how long they will last. The old me would dream forever, and never wake from the idea, less it not be true. I guess I have changed. Am I still Rick? Am I waiting for my Elsa to come and make it all right again? Who is to be my Victor? Either way, this gives me a smile on my face. I'm singing in the rain. COME ON WITH THE RAIN, I'VE A SMILE ON MY FACE! Started out with a song, the lyrics, "I won't wait for you." and then, when I hit the high point, "I've a smile on my face" a 'Singin' in the Rain' remix. She made me happy again. All those times she makes me sad without knowing it. I told her the images I get, the sense of sadness that occurs with each passing word, that in a instant can be changed on a dime. Turn on a second. I feel euphora of this. My letters of love. I would write her all the time, constantly, and then physically. A letter in the mail box. With a note inside, and sealed with wetted glue from the saliva of my tounge. She kept them, after all these years, and him, a gossip her she calls him, she told him nothing of them at all. Who is more honest? Who can be trusted? It's foolish to believe we can fully trust someone of everything, and at the same time, it's foolish not to believe we don't all have secretes, and even more foolish to believe that we should not allow others to have them.