Whispers in the Mailbox

My mailbox hangs on the front door, with a rectangular hole cut into the door panel for letters to be slipped through from the outside. Whenever I hear the postal carrier's bell go "ding-ding," I hurry to open it, and a letter silently stands inside the mailbox. The sky-blue envelopes resemble a piece of the sky, while the brown paper ones look like slabs of earth, weighty and substantial. Whenever I tear open an envelope, my emotions are always eager and thirsty, uncertain whether it holds surprises, confessions, sorrows, attentiveness, joys, or pleas for help, or perhaps a fiery romance or wandering thoughts that tug incessantly. From every corner of the world, the whereabouts of my friends depend solely on these missives.

Sometimes, waiting for a letter can be agonizing. I check the mailbox several times a day, always fearing I've missed the postal carrier's bell, only to find it empty. I detest the sight of it, looking vacant, cold, and desolate.

My courtyard has high walls, and the sunlight can't penetrate. The vicissitudes of the outside world are often conveyed to me through it. Opening the mailbox, I sometimes find a few tufts of willow fluff, some fallen petals, or even a few dry, curled leaves, along with the marks of raindrops. They all enter through the letter slot. Sometimes, with the rush of air as I open the mailbox, a few dandelion seeds "puff" onto my face, then drift and sway, like silver feathers, in the high sunlight, resembling silver plumes. These scenes transport me far away, immersing me in a warm reverie…

This mailbox is made of a few hastily nailed wooden boards, without any paint, weathered by sun and rain, cracked all over, but there's no other mailbox that can hold as much as it does.

It's a part of my life and a part of my heart. Living with care can be exhausting, but only through this can we find happiness.

However, a great disaster took away this part of me. The mailbox's door was broken by an ignorant child. Only the square wooden frame of the mailbox remains. Months passed without hearing the postal carrier's bell, and I began to worry about what might have happened to my friends.

I gradually understood that without connections of the heart, people grow distant from one another. The mailbox sat there empty, seemingly even emptier than I was.

But then, a miracle happened. Every evening, as the sun set, its rays shone through the letter slot. It was the first time my courtyard had seen sunlight. The sunlight would first linger hazily in the long, rectangular hole for a moment, then fall onto the corner of the wall, illuminating the normally dark and damp place, making it as fresh and green as if it were a clear meadow after rain. Bending down to look, it appeared like a clean post-rain grassland, incredibly beautiful. Subsequently, this light would climb up along the bricks of the wall, one by one, until it reached the fifth brick, where it would halt. A few ants would stop there too, silently enjoying the last warmth and light in the world. Gradually, the light would become thinner and dimmer until it quietly vanished. The entire mailbox turned into a square shadow. Staring at it, it felt as if I could walk into that empty, peaceful space.

Spiders began weaving their webs inside the mailbox, up, down, left, right, diagonally. I couldn't help but wonder why they were so bold to make themselves at home there. As the weather grew colder, autumn leaves began to fall inside, landing on the spiderwebs. Yellow leaves, resembling golden boats on silver nets, layer upon layer, I realized that even loneliness can create poetry. Poets never create loneliness. Suddenly, I heard a faint sound, the postal carrier's bell! I rushed out, and from a distance, I saw the letter securely placed in the mailbox. When I reached for it, there was a slight resistance, as if a slightly sticky and resilient spider silk was pulling it back. I pulled again, and instead of breaking, the silk became longer and straighter, gleaming. The boat-shaped leaves on it swayed back and forth, like a beautiful melody on a musical staff, silent but resonating in my heart...

Last night, I suddenly dreamed of this scene from the past, those long, bright spider silks, and the swaying yellow leaves. The dream felt so real that I could even feel the resistance when I pulled the spider silk. It was the most beautiful dream I've ever had in my life.