TWO THAT ARE BEAUTIFUL

T W O T H A T A R E B E A U T I F U L

monologue MacKenzie Caudill // 12

I have to tell you both how sorry I am, because I am so sorry, and sorry that I am.

I left that morning in a whirlwind of tears and screams, my mind severed from reality. I really shouldn’t have left that sunny morning.

I really am regretful I didn’t recognize your letter boxes for what they are. I know you had things to store, and letters to send. And the epistles to encounter!

In a moment of folly, I failed to douse my fire. The heat crackled like ice in that instant that morning. That instant that morning came and went like the wind.

I didn’t see your letter boxes. I pray your musings weren’t terrifically and terribly and spark entirely too dear. I saw them eventually, with dirt strewn across the street, and the now-crumpled burlap-bow that once sat on your perfectly painted, white wooden frame.

The metal spirals of the black letter box post were twisted and bent in directions unnatural to the intricate beauty of its manufacturing.

Here, I shall make a promise. I have to replace your letter boxes. I hope to repair the beautiful shelter, protecting pieces of your mind.

For it is my fault that your letters do not have homes, and that the happenings of that day hold irreparable damage to happenings inside.