Do You Have a Letter for Me?

I don't talk much.  My mom is very social; she's an extrovert.  I'm an introvert.  It worked out very well for me when I was a child.

I didn't have to speak, she took care of that.  And there was always somebody there to talk to; my dad was a pastor, knew everybody in town, or at least it felt that way.  So, mom, my four younger siblings, and I were pressed with significant social expectations.  We were a display, cardboard cut-offs surrounding Dad's pulpit, evidence to his image.

Very difficult for a shy, quiet child.

But, mom saved me.  She would talk and I'd be free to daydream and write stories in my hair, draw pictures in the candles.  Didn't have to listen, even.

Ten years later... I enroll in college and suddenly people are looking at me - directly at me - expecting me to speak.  Not just speak, because, of course, you have to have something to say in college.  Something from within you and contributes to the world.

College was a great, great challenge.  Rewarding, and I'm grateful for it! Now I'm out in the "real world" - no, I can't use quotation marks even - the real world, and I must speak.  I speak for myself.  I build for myself through my words.  That's the way it is in life.

The only one I want to talk to.  Want.  Desire.  Look forward to talking to is my future husband, David. (And my mom.  But, I'm used to her presence.  David is from the outside.  Outside myself and my home.)

He calls me all through the day and I always want to talk to him longer.  (He hates the phone... tries to get off in order to rest his dear, fragile heart.)  I feel guilty for always tugging at him, making him talk to me.  But - the great miracle! - he wants to talk to me, too.

Mr. Postman, do you have a letter for me? Mr. Postman, do you have a letter... for me -

What is this? The shy girl ponders, ponders, her thoughts the weight of raindrops on her lips.  What is this, lovely? What is it about you that makes me want to hear your voice? That makes me want to hear my voice, answering you, belonging with you?

from my own true love...

Oh, lovely.  Oh, joy.  My loves for you draw out my voice like the cold draws my breath.  Panting in winter holds the same pull.  My boy in musical highs and lows.  I speak to you and our sounds run down the canvas and leave a delicious stain.

I don't need to be free from you.  I do not need to daydream without you.

(lost at sea?)