Hello Old One,
And there, as I deem you old, I realize how much time has inconspicuously passed. To put a measure to it in numbers, more than a decade. We were mean to you then, weren't we? Me and my friends on our cycles? In a green looking, tea smelling town, whether in its unassuming yellow summers or harsh grey winters, your red would dwarf the distinct diameter around you. You stood tall. Around each nook and corner. Your stature demanded respect and attention. I have so many memories with you.
The decent ones definitely begin with cherishing that childlike joy in slipping inland letters and envelopes through your slit.The very act induced a hopeful anticipation -- of stupid wins on television shows, or clinging to prayers, or believing that a reply is ensured. I have sent so many letters dear god! Oh, do you remember that one rainy time when I was so finicky to slide in my light pink envelope that I first wiped you clean? I am weird, yes! But my best memories are definitely the naughtier ones -- when out of a respect for the cleanliness of my town, I used to wholesomely inspire everyone around to actually dump the empty chips packet into you! God, it was fun. It felt like crossing a road as prescribed in a book, look left, look right, cross. Look left, look right, friend waves a clear and I put the empty chips packet into you. And then I would roll out the stories like a boss. Oh, you surely didn't believe the joy ended there?
The rest of our cycle ride back home, mostly from tutions, would be complete with me narrating, each time with a different dimension, what would you be thinking of us, and what your complaints to the postman be, and how you would one day claw me as I repeated the act and how hurt was your ego. Such tremendous pleasure I derived in this part of the deed. It remains a very, very, very affectionate memory of friendship and storytelling.
Today when I do not see your red pride around most nooks and corners, or see a very weak, rusty dilapidated you, I feel genuinely sad at your state. You were this royal presence -- astoundingly physical. There was something magnificent about you. As I write you this letter, I realize how sad I am to use all the past tenses and how a thing of past your present is. If it can make you feel a little brighter, or if you could blush to bring a bout of red to yourself, know this that to me, an annoyingly naughty teen, you were important. Without you, many stories would go unattended. And to me, a relatively non-annoying adult, you are important, as a memory. One of those rare ones which if I could I would never delete. Or, if I could store a memory elsewhere, I would certainly store yours. It reminds me that there was so much life in me, and you. Your in-animation animated me.
In fond remembrance,
K.
And there, as I deem you old, I realize how much time has inconspicuously passed. To put a measure to it in numbers, more than a decade. We were mean to you then, weren't we? Me and my friends on our cycles? In a green looking, tea smelling town, whether in its unassuming yellow summers or harsh grey winters, your red would dwarf the distinct diameter around you. You stood tall. Around each nook and corner. Your stature demanded respect and attention. I have so many memories with you.
The decent ones definitely begin with cherishing that childlike joy in slipping inland letters and envelopes through your slit.The very act induced a hopeful anticipation -- of stupid wins on television shows, or clinging to prayers, or believing that a reply is ensured. I have sent so many letters dear god! Oh, do you remember that one rainy time when I was so finicky to slide in my light pink envelope that I first wiped you clean? I am weird, yes! But my best memories are definitely the naughtier ones -- when out of a respect for the cleanliness of my town, I used to wholesomely inspire everyone around to actually dump the empty chips packet into you! God, it was fun. It felt like crossing a road as prescribed in a book, look left, look right, cross. Look left, look right, friend waves a clear and I put the empty chips packet into you. And then I would roll out the stories like a boss. Oh, you surely didn't believe the joy ended there?
The rest of our cycle ride back home, mostly from tutions, would be complete with me narrating, each time with a different dimension, what would you be thinking of us, and what your complaints to the postman be, and how you would one day claw me as I repeated the act and how hurt was your ego. Such tremendous pleasure I derived in this part of the deed. It remains a very, very, very affectionate memory of friendship and storytelling.
Today when I do not see your red pride around most nooks and corners, or see a very weak, rusty dilapidated you, I feel genuinely sad at your state. You were this royal presence -- astoundingly physical. There was something magnificent about you. As I write you this letter, I realize how sad I am to use all the past tenses and how a thing of past your present is. If it can make you feel a little brighter, or if you could blush to bring a bout of red to yourself, know this that to me, an annoyingly naughty teen, you were important. Without you, many stories would go unattended. And to me, a relatively non-annoying adult, you are important, as a memory. One of those rare ones which if I could I would never delete. Or, if I could store a memory elsewhere, I would certainly store yours. It reminds me that there was so much life in me, and you. Your in-animation animated me.
In fond remembrance,
K.
1 comment:
In the era of email and couriers,letter boxes are becoming antiques.remember red and green metal structures in different areas. A Letter box was so important in my life when I used to live in a hostel - to post and receive letters. Should preserve some post card , inland letters before it go obsolete.
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