My hands stumbled across the paper
Like an awkward dance that had been done many times before.
I carefully addressed them one by one,
Each name scribbled with love.
By the time that I had finished,
The enormous stack of letters had somehow grown.
My pens lay scattered across the table;
The stack of envelopes towered over me.
I felt myself become tired,
My hands weak from the writing.
I took my final bow, exhausted from the tiresome dance.
But these letters made me happy.
I held onto those letters as a child to its comforting blanket
And dumped every last one into the back of my car.
My hands gripped the steering wheel,
Hesitation taking over.
But as I pictured the smiles of my loved ones,
I quickly stepped on the gas pedal.
I had reached the post office
With a hint of doubt while leaving the car.
I smiled with expectation,
Clutching the large stack of letters.
I mailed out every envelope,
Careful not to exclude anyone.
Once I was done, my arms were sore from carrying the stack,
And my feet strained with discomfort.
But these letters made me happy.
Though breathing heavily from exhaustion like the puffs of smoke from my rickety car,
I gracefully leaped over to my P.O. box.
Using all the energy I had after the gruesome dance
And motivated by anticipation.
I peered into the empty box,
Bare and dark.
My heart sank,
Yet I continued to check every day.
That dance I had done so many times before felt insignificant.
But these letters made me happy, right?