This morning I found a letter in my postbox, entitled to someone with a name similar to mine. Initially I thought maybe someone made a mistake, spelled my name wrong, but no. The content was utterly unfamiliar, though quite intriguing. I never read other people’s private correspondence; today I made an exception.
Strangely, something about the letter, the way the words were composed, the texture of the paper, markings on the envelope, appeared as if it was written a couple of centuries ago, even though the date imprinted on its pages was Wednesday last week.
Virginia Browning, was the person who signed it. She wrote to a man, another very strange thing as the recipient’s address had a female name on it. Was she hiding a secret love? I know I should have been more concerned for the man in question to receive the letter, but all I wanted was to read, to know more.
Then I heard a doorbell ring.
A man, a gentleman that is, was standing on my doorstep. With another letter in his hands.
© Iva Beranek (Dublin, April 2015)
Photo by Margie Strange Photography.