Today in my mailbox, apart from a dozen of leaflets, from which each had to be X-rayed in case there was an advice note, I also found a white, long envelope without sender or addressee. Clean, bulging, sealed.
My head – already spinning since I'm on the pills – started to buzz even more. Maybe it's A. She was here, didn't want to go upstairs, maybe she was afraid. Or maybe she came only with the intention to leave the envelope. It would be her first words since... autumn? In autumn I ignored everything. Sometime in the winter I sent her clothes back. No, not A.
So maybe M. It's so like her. She's been here too, so she knows the address. Inside there will be something warm, an invitation for a cup of tea or a play at the theater. Or simply a few sheets of words.
Or maybe anybody. Some kind of "come on, just pop in". Or "it's been enough".
Or at least some secret intrigue.
Quite easy to guess: an election brochure of some yokel. To cap it all, he's from the Law and Justice party.
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