Monologue Series: II

I walk in a neat, fitted, and creased dress towards the door of a home. A kid and his sister watch me coming up to the front entrance of the house, quite excited about the stuff I have in my hands. But they keep looking through the glass windows, and no one opens the door for me, even when I return back. It looks like as if they are bound by the manners of the unmannerly, who don't wish to become mannerful and kind to the approaching visitor. I move on and while I ascend into my jeep, an old woman watches the contents of my hands, as if she likes one of those shiny envelope, carefully designed by a computer and is flashy in appearance. I smiled; and got a smile back from her wrinkled face, an example of the effect of that time has on every entity. Then I drive towards the home of Rosanna, the beautiful, with a deftly wrapped gift, in a golden shade. The gift is trembling in my hands, as if shivering with the expectations of touching her soft hands. I reach her home on 123 Beautiful Street and walk with an unusual gait to reach her door. I ring the bell, with the hope of a sweet moonlight like belle opening the door. However, to our, the box’s and mine, dismay no one was home. I quickly pull out a notepad and write a note for her. I show, with the note, that I came with a gift but you weren't home and I care, so I am leaving the note at your door. Please give a call if you wish to talk with me and get this exquisite gift box from me. May be you, the reader, never thought how closely I care for you, but as a postman, I bring all the good stuff, with some junk mail, at your doorstep. You never open the door to greet me, like the two kids, but I always smile at you. I carry all your curiosity and collectibles in my hands and yet not receive a coffee offer on a cold afternoon. I care for you even if you are not home and I keep trying till I am able to find you. My secure hands and my exceptional care are always meant for you.