Imagine…

The love of your life is miles away, if only in physical form, but spiritually, they’re with you. Romantically, they’re first on your mind.

Imagine. Easy, right?

You’re old school, and believe the written word is the best way to tell them how you feel. You stutter when trying to explain yourself in person, and you have little musical talent to sing them a song, and you’re not going for trite, you’re going for heartfelt. Plus, you have an inkling of what you want to say and the words you’d use.

Imagine. So easy, the romance and the love and the blooming of both.

You get out some good stationery, find your best pens, and sit and write. Lo, the words flow from the pen, as you explain to your beloved how great they are, how they make you feel, and how much you want them to be in your life. 

Imagine. The tactile sense of writing, of being able to translate thought into words.

You put this declaration of love in the envelope, put a stamp or two on it, and put it in the mailbox at the end of your block, confident that it will reach your beloved, and then the next chapter of your life will truly begin.

Except, it doesn’t. Because they never get your letter. 

Because Louis GOTDAMN DeJoy is Postmaster General, and because of the circumstances surrounding the US Postal Service, through mismanagement, the pandemic, onerous debt, and a barely-hidden wish for the department to be privatized, that letter never reaches its intended destination.

Why is that not so hard to imagine?