It’s full again. Why do I get so much random crap, from people I don’t even know? But then again, I couldn’t live without my mailbox. I carry on conversations through it; I wouldn’t know many of the people I do without it. A spectacular thing, the mailbox is.
how many people in this country DON’T have mailboxes? it’s like a symbol of the kind of “american dream” that we’re all supposed to have. no matter what your beliefs or understanding of the world, everyone has this one little box on the very edge of everything they own that connects them to the world outside of themselves and the one they’ve created.
hurry up short man shorts wearing man taking naps in your mailman transporting short mail. new york city has no mailboxes, only flying pigeons overhead. true story
When I go to the mailbox I am excited, thinking there will be something there for me. I see nothing. Nothing from friends, nothing from family. It is empty. I feel alone and sad. I wish someone would think of me. I wish someone would send me something. I wish I didn’t have to look at that mailbox and only feel sadness.
a mail-man delivers to a mailbox and this gets filled with lovely letters and post cards from far away friends and family. However there are the boring letters, such as bills. I love recieving letters though, it’s something that really excites me. I used to have a penpal, her name was pipin. Mail-Men wear shorts mostly, even in winter.
i had a green mailbox when i was a kid. i’d always go out and check it every day at the same time. this was no ordinary mail box. it was a mogical one that crossed space and time. i would recieve letters from myself in the future
I looked out, accross the crouded room, overlooking everyone who was inbetween us. A man, sliding a discarded quarter into his pocket. A woman, holding the hand of a young chlid: on a mission. A girl. Home from school, getting something from her mailbox. And then I ran. I ran from everything, the breeze stinging my cheeks. And then I laughed. I cried. I tripped. I fell. And the whole time I was thinking of you.
i put the letter in the mailbox and lifted up the flag; and that was all i could do. an expensive hallmark card saying “sorry for your loss” was all i could pay for. i had no money to fly up and say goodbye to my friend. it hurt like 10,000 knives stabbing me in the heart one at a time.
the mailbox was almost as frostbitten as my face. I reached up to feel my nose and then realized I couldn’t. I hated this cold weather, no matter how beautiful it made the mostly dull earth around me. The blankets of white hardly made up for the feeling of pain in my ears or the headache I got from the icy conditions. But Christmas was coming, and I was happy. I reached in and got my letter.
this makes me think of emails!! Maybe I spend too long checking them at work. Also old-fashioned mailboxes with little flags on them, with snow on top, at the end of a long driveway. Mail is exciting, I can’t ever resist checking what’s come in when I’m at work. But looking back at the silly conversations I have at work makes me feel a bit daft.
The mailbox was hanging open, just barely, the flag not sure if it should be up or down. A girl on a rusty bicycle stopped by it. She glanced hurriedly around then stuck her hand into the mailbox, searching for something that’s not there. Discouraged, she hurriedly rode back down the dirt road.
I never get mail and it sucks. I wish someone would just send me a letter every once in a while. It doesn’t even have to be money from my mom or a care package from my grandparents. Just a postcard from a friend abroad, or a catalogue with things I can actually afford. I don’t have much to say about mailboxes and I feel like I’m at a writing workshop.
I went and there was nothing in there…how sad no cards, bills, junk mail, nothing. Must be lonely. How is it that everybod gets mail except me…well I’ll wait till tomorrow then…
I want to knock some mailboxes down. All the badasses in the movies do it. Knock that little red flag right off. Or blow them up. Oh wait…that’s a federal offense, isn’t it? Oh well…maybe those anthrax senders weren’t so different after all. Maybe all they wanted was a little fun.
It was just another day, another innocuous moment in time as I was living in American suburbia. I got home from work. I parked my car. I went to the mailbox. Then, in an instant, my life changed forever. The anthrax in the mail that had been sent to me reacted in an odd way with a genetic mutation I had been born with, and I somehow developed the superhuman ability to fly.
I keep my love letters in a mailbox. . this way I don’t have to open them. I won’t open them, not ever. Because I am afraid of whay they will say. . I’m scared of the outcome. . I keep my love letters in a mailbox, sealed with a secret kiss. . that I will never open . I keep my love letter in a mailbox.
Deployment, thats all i think about when I hear the word Mailbox. Its that little thing at the post office that I Hurry too every single day hopeing to have a package or a letter from my Husband In Afghanistan. Sure times have changed and we have internet now and phones but there is still nothing like a sweet surprise in the mailbox from a man that I miss
i never understood the whole thing of dogs chasing mailmen, it’s like wtf? my dog never chases the mailman, for god’s sake, the mailman drives a fucking car. if my dog were to attempt to chase a mailman, she’d be run over and owned like no other. i mean, who’s ever seen a dog chase a mailman or a mailman get fucked over by a dog in their lifetime (other than in cartoons)? it really makes absolutely no sense
He sent out applications — so, so many applications. He knew his marks weren’t the best, but he thought that someone, ANYONE, might have been willing to take him. To ACCEPT him.
I hate going to the mailbox. There aren’t ever any fun letters for me. I’m like Charlie Brown. Occasionally, I’ll recieve my subscription to Cosmo, which is always amusing. Still, it would be nice to hear from my friends back home. I wonder, if I were to send letters, would they send letters back? Perhaps I should try that next semester. I would love more letters. I love letters from Tony.
mailboxes. sweet treats stuffed inside shallow compartments. inconsiderate neighbors barrel through, bricks scattered and shattered. postman whistles, hinges creak, letters from around the world meet to say, “hello, you are loved.” different sizes, different shapes, different messages come together in one, small, space.
So everybody likes getting stuff in the mail, right? I know I do. So why do I never get anything? Looking at it, you get out what you put in. so all those times I said, ‘I’m too broke for christmas this year’, ‘sorry I’ve got no money at the moment’, I guess that’s all coming back now.
i have a mialbox and i put mail in it. post cards and letters to people all over the world. i also go to my mailbox to pick up mail that people have sent me, also from all over the world. bills and presents. sometimes i go to the mail box and there is not anything in it at all.
Rushing to the mailbox for some sign of somebody giving a shit, she unlocked it, shoved her hand in, and dashed her hopes. Debt. Debt for Christmas and New Years, and not a single holiday card in sight. Fine, Christmas cards aren’t really green, but they can be recycled, and She would spare a tree for some damn affection one a year.
the mailbox is empty. the mailbox is full. whether it is full or empty seems to mean something about the state of the world, and of my self at the time. to get letters you need to write letters, said my mom. the empty mailbox stands in mute reproach. you have no friends because you never wrote enough letters, when you had the time. oh well. mailbox empty, mailbox full…life is full of suffering either way.
My letter is here!
On my way to the mailbox…
I put the key in…
and there I see…
nothing is here there for me…
-sigh- So much for my letter.
Tomorrow is another day?
As soon as I had let the letter drop into the mailbox a wave of regret surged up through my chest, this was a mistake. Nothing good could come of this, I was kidding myself when I thought it would change things between us and he would see that this isnt how things were meant to be.
I used to watch. And watch. And wait. And watch. Even though I knew that the red flag wasn’t down yet, and it wasn’t even the regular time for him to show up, I would wait. Most of the time there wasn’t anything for me. It was bills and big coupon books. But I was always hoping that someday there would be something with my name on it.
It’s full again. Why do I get so much random crap, from people I don’t even know? But then again, I couldn’t live without my mailbox. I carry on conversations through it; I wouldn’t know many of the people I do without it. A spectacular thing, the mailbox is.
how many people in this country DON’T have mailboxes? it’s like a symbol of the kind of “american dream” that we’re all supposed to have. no matter what your beliefs or understanding of the world, everyone has this one little box on the very edge of everything they own that connects them to the world outside of themselves and the one they’ve created.
it’s always exciting to come home and find in your mailbox something else than just mail from the bank… it’s like a surprise box
Te mailbox is a very common object to find on the lawn of nearly any lot. it has been used for years and has changed in appearnce greatly.
hurry up short man shorts wearing man taking naps in your mailman transporting short mail. new york city has no mailboxes, only flying pigeons overhead. true story
When I go to the mailbox I am excited, thinking there will be something there for me. I see nothing. Nothing from friends, nothing from family. It is empty. I feel alone and sad. I wish someone would think of me. I wish someone would send me something. I wish I didn’t have to look at that mailbox and only feel sadness.
a mail-man delivers to a mailbox and this gets filled with lovely letters and post cards from far away friends and family. However there are the boring letters, such as bills. I love recieving letters though, it’s something that really excites me. I used to have a penpal, her name was pipin. Mail-Men wear shorts mostly, even in winter.
i had a green mailbox when i was a kid. i’d always go out and check it every day at the same time. this was no ordinary mail box. it was a mogical one that crossed space and time. i would recieve letters from myself in the future
I looked out, accross the crouded room, overlooking everyone who was inbetween us. A man, sliding a discarded quarter into his pocket. A woman, holding the hand of a young chlid: on a mission. A girl. Home from school, getting something from her mailbox. And then I ran. I ran from everything, the breeze stinging my cheeks. And then I laughed. I cried. I tripped. I fell. And the whole time I was thinking of you.
in my mailbox tofday I found absolutely nothing, maybe the mailman hadn’t arrived yet or I m just not that important…
i put the letter in the mailbox and lifted up the flag; and that was all i could do. an expensive hallmark card saying “sorry for your loss” was all i could pay for. i had no money to fly up and say goodbye to my friend. it hurt like 10,000 knives stabbing me in the heart one at a time.
mailman. my dog always chases him.
this surpasses letters in a mailbox
the mailbox was almost as frostbitten as my face. I reached up to feel my nose and then realized I couldn’t. I hated this cold weather, no matter how beautiful it made the mostly dull earth around me. The blankets of white hardly made up for the feeling of pain in my ears or the headache I got from the icy conditions. But Christmas was coming, and I was happy. I reached in and got my letter.
this makes me think of emails!! Maybe I spend too long checking them at work. Also old-fashioned mailboxes with little flags on them, with snow on top, at the end of a long driveway. Mail is exciting, I can’t ever resist checking what’s come in when I’m at work. But looking back at the silly conversations I have at work makes me feel a bit daft.
The mailbox was hanging open, just barely, the flag not sure if it should be up or down. A girl on a rusty bicycle stopped by it. She glanced hurriedly around then stuck her hand into the mailbox, searching for something that’s not there. Discouraged, she hurriedly rode back down the dirt road.
I never get mail and it sucks. I wish someone would just send me a letter every once in a while. It doesn’t even have to be money from my mom or a care package from my grandparents. Just a postcard from a friend abroad, or a catalogue with things I can actually afford. I don’t have much to say about mailboxes and I feel like I’m at a writing workshop.
I went and there was nothing in there…how sad no cards, bills, junk mail, nothing. Must be lonely. How is it that everybod gets mail except me…well I’ll wait till tomorrow then…
I put food in my luchbox, and life in my moving box, and my words in a mailbox. Hopefully my words will get to you
I want to knock some mailboxes down. All the badasses in the movies do it. Knock that little red flag right off. Or blow them up. Oh wait…that’s a federal offense, isn’t it? Oh well…maybe those anthrax senders weren’t so different after all. Maybe all they wanted was a little fun.
Blues clues!!! I miss that show soo much childhood is always missed but never retained except only in our dreams!
It was just another day, another innocuous moment in time as I was living in American suburbia. I got home from work. I parked my car. I went to the mailbox. Then, in an instant, my life changed forever. The anthrax in the mail that had been sent to me reacted in an odd way with a genetic mutation I had been born with, and I somehow developed the superhuman ability to fly.
the wooden mailbox stood sentry at the end of the twisting drive. the colorful birds that adorned it’s sides, watched the entry to the house holding…
I keep my love letters in a mailbox. . this way I don’t have to open them. I won’t open them, not ever. Because I am afraid of whay they will say. . I’m scared of the outcome. . I keep my love letters in a mailbox, sealed with a secret kiss. . that I will never open . I keep my love letter in a mailbox.
Deployment, thats all i think about when I hear the word Mailbox. Its that little thing at the post office that I Hurry too every single day hopeing to have a package or a letter from my Husband In Afghanistan. Sure times have changed and we have internet now and phones but there is still nothing like a sweet surprise in the mailbox from a man that I miss
i never understood the whole thing of dogs chasing mailmen, it’s like wtf? my dog never chases the mailman, for god’s sake, the mailman drives a fucking car. if my dog were to attempt to chase a mailman, she’d be run over and owned like no other. i mean, who’s ever seen a dog chase a mailman or a mailman get fucked over by a dog in their lifetime (other than in cartoons)? it really makes absolutely no sense
The mailbox was empty, and he was waiting.
He sent out applications — so, so many applications. He knew his marks weren’t the best, but he thought that someone, ANYONE, might have been willing to take him. To ACCEPT him.
But the mailbox remained empty.
I hate going to the mailbox. There aren’t ever any fun letters for me. I’m like Charlie Brown. Occasionally, I’ll recieve my subscription to Cosmo, which is always amusing. Still, it would be nice to hear from my friends back home. I wonder, if I were to send letters, would they send letters back? Perhaps I should try that next semester. I would love more letters. I love letters from Tony.
mailboxes. sweet treats stuffed inside shallow compartments. inconsiderate neighbors barrel through, bricks scattered and shattered. postman whistles, hinges creak, letters from around the world meet to say, “hello, you are loved.” different sizes, different shapes, different messages come together in one, small, space.
Never chech it because it has bills!
THE MAILBOX IS A WONDERFUL PLACE.
YOU CAN KEEP IN TOUCH WITH YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY.
YOU CAN RECEIVE SURPRISES SOMETIMES.
So everybody likes getting stuff in the mail, right? I know I do. So why do I never get anything? Looking at it, you get out what you put in. so all those times I said, ‘I’m too broke for christmas this year’, ‘sorry I’ve got no money at the moment’, I guess that’s all coming back now.
i have a mialbox and i put mail in it. post cards and letters to people all over the world. i also go to my mailbox to pick up mail that people have sent me, also from all over the world. bills and presents. sometimes i go to the mail box and there is not anything in it at all.
Rushing to the mailbox for some sign of somebody giving a shit, she unlocked it, shoved her hand in, and dashed her hopes. Debt. Debt for Christmas and New Years, and not a single holiday card in sight. Fine, Christmas cards aren’t really green, but they can be recycled, and She would spare a tree for some damn affection one a year.
“I have to get home.”
I licked my lips, edging away in my chair. He leaned closer over the table, bulbous, oily nose reflecting in the candlelight.
“Why?”
“I…gotta check the mail!”
and I ran out of the resturant as if I were on fire, suddenly more thankful then ever before for snail mail.
the mailbox is empty. the mailbox is full. whether it is full or empty seems to mean something about the state of the world, and of my self at the time. to get letters you need to write letters, said my mom. the empty mailbox stands in mute reproach. you have no friends because you never wrote enough letters, when you had the time. oh well. mailbox empty, mailbox full…life is full of suffering either way.
something you look into and find either a surprise or a burden of bills. a small little box can be so exciting. always there to tell you something.
My letter is here!
On my way to the mailbox…
I put the key in…
and there I see…
nothing is here there for me…
-sigh- So much for my letter.
Tomorrow is another day?
As soon as I had let the letter drop into the mailbox a wave of regret surged up through my chest, this was a mistake. Nothing good could come of this, I was kidding myself when I thought it would change things between us and he would see that this isnt how things were meant to be.
I used to watch. And watch. And wait. And watch. Even though I knew that the red flag wasn’t down yet, and it wasn’t even the regular time for him to show up, I would wait. Most of the time there wasn’t anything for me. It was bills and big coupon books. But I was always hoping that someday there would be something with my name on it.