Awaiting the Letter

Every day I wait for you,
My eyes watch closely for the mailman.
That square box with red and blue stripes,
Like a tortoise moving awkwardly from house to house.
I listen for its loud voice,
Calling ahead to announce its arrival.
Yes, I see it now on the horizon,
Making its way to my modest mailbox.
But no, first he serves my neighbors.
I watch through the blinds of my bedroom window
As the mailman feeds junk mail to the hungry mailboxes,
Like a mother bird feeding her chicks.
Finally it is my turn.
He takes his time.
I wait for him to drive away, embarrassed by my childish eagerness.
Of course I don’t count the minutes before his arrival.
Who would do that? Someone with no life, perhaps?
But alas, every day I find myself walking down the driveway.
I can almost feel my neighbors’ eyes staring at me.
Why is she so excited for the mail?
No one sends important stuff by snail mail anymore!
Oh but yes they do, my friend.
My heart beats as I open the cold, metal box.
Not today, sorry, says the pessimistic side of me.
Shut up.
I flip through the pile of envelopes and flyers.
No, no, no.
Yes.
I see the emblem; on the outside of your envelope is written:
Congratulations on your acceptance to…
My dream school.
Whatever that may be.