The Letter Box

She stared at it for a little longer. The moonlight had made its red out of rust skin shine. The view of it from her balcony was just so vivid. It had been there for years now. She remembered her dad placing it when they first moved into the house around twenty years ago. It stood like a testimony of time. Once filled with pretty envelopes overflowing with love and wishes from everyone she knew, from birthday wishes to funeral invitation. It hardly bore letters now. Someone told her the old postman is now too sick to ride the cycle, a new young boy had taken up his place and ever hardly stopped by it. The last time she saw an envelope there, was almost five years ago.  It sheltered a wedding card. His wedding card. The most beautiful card she had ever seen. Just the way she had imagined hers to be. Just the way he had told her he wanted his to be. One wedding card from Iceland and the letter box was never the same. It stayed there stuck to its ground rusted, old and frail like the forgotten lover. The lover who smelt him even today, years later in all his letters. The letters which once had spoken of everything beautiful under the sun. The letters that now stay crumbled under the bed. A little torn on the edges from everyday reading. She stood there watching it rain on the red letter box. A few drops kissed her crown skin. A little boy ran barefoot in the alley chasing a pretty girl, their laughter echoing in her ears. She ran back into the room gasping for breath. The old bed sheets looked abandoned. She scratched down her nails on the walls stained with charcoal. The paintings were hardly visible, all smudged with time. From the window on the side she looked outside to see the mirror. The Letter Box which no more brought his letters,  the letter box which stood rusted like the forgotten lover.