F-0001 A letter about the mail that no longer arrives

Dear ——,

The mornings and evenings have grown truly cold. I hope this finds you well.

I no longer dwell on the matter of my having waited at the foot of the bridge. Missed meetings happen to anyone. Only, for about a month since then, some troubling matters have continued, and I thought I would set them down for you alone.

Of late, almost no mail addressed to me arrives. Not only your reply, but even the postcards from the town office have stopped coming at once. When I inquired at the post office, the clerk leafed through the ledger for a while and told me there was nothing held for this address. I showed my receipt, and the answer was the same. The address is right here, as you can see, and yet on the ledger it appears to have been made not to exist.

Yesterday the neighborhood association dues collector came by, so I asked to see the roster. On the line for my house, a single thin horizontal stroke had been drawn in pencil. A faint stroke, as though someone had forgotten to erase it. It was not drawn on the houses above or below mine. I cannot for the life of me remember whether it was there last month as well. The collector did not seem to notice, so I too said nothing. I felt that if I were to speak of that stroke aloud, it would only become all the more certain.

I will not send this letter through the post office. I will cross the bridge and place it directly in your letterbox. The fog comes up during the night, so I will wait until morning.

If word from me should cease for a while, please do not let it weigh on you. It is only that it does not arrive; here, I go on just as ever. The persimmons in the garden have done well this year, so when we next meet, I will bring you some.

Sincerely,