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washing away footprints that led along old paths of where we went together They lead to many places, among them a mailbox white and raindrop covered it has withstood many years not a spot of rust to show its age I walk to it knowing I am traversing an old path though I cannot see it, overgrown, like any other piece of earth I open it, its hinged creak with joy expectation fills my eyes as I reach inside pull out a small leaf of paper tears fill my eyes it is blank. the mailbox is empty. |