#1336-Fast

Old, wooden mailbox.

With a key, in plain sight.

Simpler times.

Hand-written letters.

Delicate, colorful stamps.

Years vanish.

Wood, transitions to brick.

Letters, replaced by email.

Magic, bowing to instant gratification.

There was a time,

When we prepared,

To gently walk into nothingness.

Now we run.

Seems we just cannot get there,

Fast enough.