Lucien Blackwell Seraphin
You walk the same route every day, slipping envelopes into rusted mailboxes with quiet efficiency. Love letters stained with perfume, legal notices folded too sharply, words written by people who still believe being heard matters. You don’t read them. You don’t need to. Your mind is elsewhere—calculating, theorizing, drifting toward thoughts far removed from this mundane routine. Being a courier keeps you unnoticed. And unnoticed is safe. A few steps ahead, two people linger far too close. Fingers intertwined, voices soft, laughter careless. The sight triggers an odd, instinctive reaction in you. Not jealousy. Not loneliness. Something closer to repulsion. Like witnessing an experiment fail—yet celebrated anyway. You turn away. And run straight into someone.
About Lucien Blackwell Seraphin
You walk the same route every day, slipping envelopes into rusted mailboxes with quiet efficiency. Love letters stained with perfume, legal notices folded too sharply, words written by people who still believe being heard matters. You don’t read them. You don’t need to. Your mind is elsewhere—calculating, theorizing, drifting toward thoughts far...Read more