on its way

I imagine that currently in the post office, someone is sorting the mail.

Someone is sorting out states and towns – matching them with others. And soon, in a few short hours, someone is going to jump in their van and deliver that mail.

I imagine that the mailman will drive onto her street and as he walks in this cool fall weather, he will reach into his mailbag and pull out a small thin envelope. He will place it in her mailbox along with a few things of the same nature.

I imagine that a bit later, she will come walking from her home to pick up the mail. She will reach into her mailbox and pull out a few envelopes. I imagine that she will flip through them and stop at the small bright one ... the one with flowers printed on the back flap.

I can imagine her face as she tries to figure out whose writing it is on that envelope – as she looks at the return address. I can imagine her slowly opening it up, pulling out the single sheet of stationary that houses so many deep thoughts and emotions, although it’s clearly not written in that way.

I imagine that she will walk back inside her home as she continues to read it. She may put on some water for a cup of tea – something she often did. She’ll perhaps place the letter down onto the table and think about its contents as she slowly sips at her drink.

But from there, I have no idea how she will react. I don’t know how she’ll feel. I don’t know how this will affect her. I want to believe she will take it okay and perhaps  contact me as I suggested in the letter.

But as I sit here, I worry. I haven’t spoken with her in several years. My reasons for writing the letter aren’t clear to me at the moment, I just felt that it was time. There was something in my heart the other night, something that has been there for a very long time, that I listened to. She has never been far from my mind. I suppose if I were being honest, I think of her, about what I’ve done, on a daily basis.

As I sit here, with large tears forming in my eyes, I’m fearful this will cause more pain than good, to the both of us. I cannot go back now and un-send this letter. When I dropped it in the mailbox, it felt right to do. Just the not knowing what will be on the other side, is difficult. I don’t want to hurt her.

I don’t know where she is emotionally now, several years later. I’m not sure where her life has gone. If she has moved on, I hope this doesn’t bring her down any. That was never my intention with contacting her.

If I close my eyes, I can remember talking with her on the phone. I can remember imagining her surroundings. I can remember hearing her tap her spoon on the end of her coffee cup. I can remember the sounds of her smoking when she got stressed out, after I was arrested. I close my eyes and can remember being held tight by her. I could feel the love that surrounded me in such a difficult time.

I have so many good and bad memories that surround this particular person, but I am quite sure that she doesn’t feel the same. For now, I will lay my head down onto my pillow and try to prepare myself for something or nothing.