|| this post was inspired by this picture. || { picture source } "Has it arrived yet?" She asks, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders. Hope is written all over her face and she bites her lip, wishing for one words. Just one. "No," The old lady at the desk replies. It hurts her every time to say that. "But this came in." She hands the letter to the younger girl, sighing as she watches the hope drain from her eyes. "Thank you." She whispers. Then the girl turns and leaves. This happens again, and again. Every morning the girl comes, asking if it has arrived. And every morning, the old women replies with a no, and another bill to add to the girl's troubles. But one morning, when the girl walks into the post office, the old woman is not there. A younger girl sits in the old ladies spot, shifting through a stack of letters. Hellos are exchanged, and the girl asks what happened to the old lady. "She died." Th...
Authenticity is attractive.