It happened on an unusually
windy autumn day. Seated at my desk, I heard an alien rustle. I turned
to find that the wind had blown a letter through my study window. Odd. I
had thought I closed that window. My bare feet rustled across the
letter-strewn floor. I had written those letters to many women, some of
whom existed, none of whom exist any longer. Here was a new letter, and I
bent to pick it up.
It was addressed to an old friend of mine. I did not recognize the return address. The letter was unopened. I opened it.
When I was done reading, I carefully folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. I made no effort to wipe away the stains my tears had left.
My bare feet rustled their familiar rustle as I returned to my desk, and bent to my task. When the clock chimed five, I laid down my pen with a sigh. I raised the letter to the dimming light, contemplating what I had crafted. I knew it was no good.
I shrugged, realizing, perhaps, that accepting that my letter was unworthy of its recipient was the highest tribute I could offer. I shuffled again to the window, and entrusted my letter to the wind. I had addressed it: "To An Old Friend."
Who said Facebook can't produce anything worthwhile?
A question for the audience: Is it clear that the letter that came through the window was "intercepted"? That it was originally sent to my friend, by an unknown person?
It was addressed to an old friend of mine. I did not recognize the return address. The letter was unopened. I opened it.
When I was done reading, I carefully folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. I made no effort to wipe away the stains my tears had left.
My bare feet rustled their familiar rustle as I returned to my desk, and bent to my task. When the clock chimed five, I laid down my pen with a sigh. I raised the letter to the dimming light, contemplating what I had crafted. I knew it was no good.
I shrugged, realizing, perhaps, that accepting that my letter was unworthy of its recipient was the highest tribute I could offer. I shuffled again to the window, and entrusted my letter to the wind. I had addressed it: "To An Old Friend."
Who said Facebook can't produce anything worthwhile?
A question for the audience: Is it clear that the letter that came through the window was "intercepted"? That it was originally sent to my friend, by an unknown person?
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