The catch of breath, the flutter of anticipation keeps me coming back six days a week always wondering, asking, guessing… Ninety-nine percent of the time there’s nothing, but because I’m sure it exists, that one percent doesn’t seem so small. Could it be today? Will something special arrive?
I wait for an unknown, but that’s no concern; I’ll know it when we meet. For now? All anticipation. Not complete, of course—it isn’t what I live for—but those bubbly, exciting seconds every day when I lift the lid and ask myself if life might change somehow. The light beams a bit brighter, blood pounds, heart pulses—then I sigh. I wasn’t expecting anything anyway.
Mailbox, goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow.