It was a beautiful midsummer's day. A boy sat on a wide windowsill, looking out to the yard. Butterflies flew, flowers were in their prettiest blossom, and probably the birds were making a lot of noise, though the boy couldn't hear it through the glass.

It seemed as if the boy was looking at nothing special, but if you had followed his eyes, you'd have found out that he was actually staring at a mailbox next to the narrow road through the yard. He had been doing that for about a couple of hours that day, and for about twenty-nine days before it. He was anxious.

"Daniel, what are you doing there by the window again? I'm starting to believe there's something wrong with you." His mother's voice caught his ears, and he forced himself to step down from the sill.

"It's nothing, mom. My eyes just got caught into something", he explained and disappeared out of the front door.

He stood still for a moment, now looking at the mailbox from another angle. It was just an ordinary mailbox; its colour was red and around it there was a flower pattern his mom had painted when his parents had moved in sixteen years ago.

The sign was down to tell that the mail had not yet come. Daniel advanced slowly towards the box until he was standing in front of it, and then he opened the lid. There was nothing there. He turned around and started walking.

It was very warm, and the sun kept tickling Daniel's skin as he walked along the road, heading for the sea shore. He didn't like the warmth, though. With those days he had learned to hate the sun and the birds and every bloody butterfly he had seen. He hated nearly everything. He hated the mailbox.

He had his own special place in the shore, a place where no one else ever came. It was under the shadow of a huge oak tree, and it was always much colder there than under the sunshine. The seawater waved slowly and glimmered in the light, but he sat down with his back towards it, leaning against the tree.

"Where are you?", he whispered, closing his eyes. He imagined a picture in his mind, a picture he had been staring at for so many times he knew every deatil of it by heart.

It was a picture of a girl, whose hair was light brown and whose eyes were hazel. On her face there was a wide smile that made her very beautiful and happy-looking. She had freckles on her cheeks, and Daniel thought they made her cute.

He kept the picture clear and pondered, once more, what had happened to her. She had left him, for sure; dumped him and forgotten him like an old rag. And there was no way he could ever know the truth, for she was so far away.

Bu what if... What if her letter had just gotten lost in the in the post? Thrown in the corner and wiped away by the cleaner? Maybe.

Should he write her and ask? No... What if she really had decided to stop sending letters to him, and he'd just make a fool out of himself? Yes, he'd keep on waiting. He would get her letter, or then not, but he would not send another letter to her. He could wait, and give up if needed, he knew it.

He arose and walked back home. He checked the mail and found out there was no letters for him. He went to his room and knew he couldn't wait.

*****

The bells tolled, spreading their gloomy echo upon a small town. There was a scent of grief everywhere around the place; everyone knew what had happened.

At the cemetery there was a fresh grave, under and old oak tree. Its mound was still brown and plantless, though a few roses had been laid across it. Candles burned in front of the headstone, sheding their dim light upon the dark mould.

On the other side of the town a small single-family house had a bleak shadow upon it. The last guests bade farewell to their hosts and walked along the short path to their cars, ready to go home and forget everything.

Inside the house the mother of the family took her jewels off and sat on the couch, burying her face in her hands. Her husband and their little daughter came to sit next to her, to comfort her and to tell that everything will be all right, though nothing would ever be the same. The man unfolded his tie and let his tears finally fall, after keeping them inside for the whole day.

Beside the couch there was a small, round table. There was a white cloth covering the table, and on it there were two candles and a framed picture between them. The picture portrayed a young girl, whose smile was wide and who had freckles on her cheeks. Her hazel eyes were vibrant and her light brown hair fell down on her shoulders wildly. It almost seemed as if she was still alive through that picture.