Your Mailman

Sundays are my day off, so that’s when I read your mail. I only take the things you weren’t expecting: new catalogs, letters from old lovers. I know which relatives you talk to and which ones you don’t, so I always take the birthday card from your aunt Sheila — you never notice when it doesn’t come.

Do I feel bad, taking what’s addressed to you? I used to. Sometimes I even sealed the best letters back up with glue sticks and slid them through your slot. But then I started writing back to your relatives and friends on your behalf. I’m polite but warm; we’ve struck up quite a correspondence. They’ve told me things I don’t think they’d ever reveal to you. Because of me your relationships are deeper and more fulfilling than you could possibly imagine. You’re welcome.


One Response to “Your Mailman”

  1. Meggy Says:

    This one makes me really sad, for some reason. I like it a lot. (This means I like to be sad, apparently.)

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