“Greetings from Montevideo!”
I write as neatly as I can across the postcard. I even think about slipping it into an envelope with a few pictures of my own.
A landscape shot here. Maybe the view from my office. It’s just the road but I find myself hoping you’re as curious about my life as I am about yours.
Maybe I’ll even slip in a photo of the twins. They’re six now but you never knew they were born.
I’ve never made it a habit to memorize the faces I make but I know I’m cringing.
Desperation, that’s what this smells like.
I turn the postcard over in my hands, even if I sent it completely anonymous … you’d know my writing from a mile away.
I’m sure it’d reek of wrinkled love poems and tear stained confessions.
It’d just become another love song you sing to another silly girl.
Word count: 149