kay: postage? all i can think about is a postage note. which i love them. they help me so much. i’m always in need of little reminders and they are always there for me.
meg: i want a letter, a random letter from someone who use to care. All it needs to say is hello and i wanted to write you something personal. sent to my room with a postage.
My mind swirled with anticipation as I opened up the mailbox. It would be here today. I knew it would. It HAD to be. I was skeptical, but crazed with excitment as I ripped the mailbox open, AND YES! There it was! My Lion King 2 VHS!
I really like postage. I mean I send out so many letters and postcards a week that I need lots of postage to make them arrive. I send international which costs almost a dollar and then inside the country which is 44 or 28 cents depending. I love postage!!
Another reason why postal mail is becoming outdated. Emails, instant messages, etc. are free to send to people. Soon everything will be digital. It makes me a little sad because there’s something to be said for hard copies and seeing actual handwritten text.
How many stamps do I need for this letter? Who the hell knows. Apparently it costs 7-something to send a letter in one day. Maybe I’ll just drop this one off myself.
I was walking to the post office the other day, not really expecting anything to be in my box. Then I turned the key, opened it up, and inside was a note. It said four simple words, “Have a great day”.
The Kindle that Stephen King wrote about in his novella “UR” was pink. It reminded me of how Apple products always have lots of different colors to suit their different consumers’ tastes. I wonder if Kindle will ever follow in their footsteps. Because I do know some people who buy things just because of their color.
This is a letter to a girl. I’m sending it priority. It’s in my hand. I’m going to send it. I mean it. I put the correct postage on it. I’m ready. Here I go. I’m going to send this letter.
After watching Jane Austin’s “sense and sensibility” and “Pride and prejudice” quite recently, I am amazed at how much letter writting and postage played inn terms of a role and its importance for both narratives
I’m currently abroad, and I want to send postcards to my friends, but I’m not sure how. What format should I use to write the address? How long will it take to get there? How much will the postage be? And how will I communicate with the people at the office? Not knowing the language is getting a bit rough.
There’s this weird thing called postage, which for some odd reason costs money to buy. It seems as if the government does whatever it wants and taxes on the most pointless things, such as junk food, housing, and of course, postage. There’s absolutely no point making us pay 3 cents or 3 dollars or anything of the sort to talk to someone. In fact, they’re making us pay to write a more sincere letter to someone. It’s ridiculous. It seems America is getting an England complex when it comes to taxes.
I licked the back of the postage stamp and stuck it to the letter. Hopefully it would reach my brother, because that was to be the last time I spoke to him. I would probably never get a reply, I would never look for one. Maybe someday Prescott Prep would get a return letter, but I never would.
The postage stamp was placed ever so carefully in the top right corner of the envelope. The envelope was licked and sealed very neatly, the address written in beautiful black ink. She kissed the letter one last time for luck before pushing it into the mailbox, where it slithered down to join the rest of the mail in waiting.
I really hate the taste of stamps. Of envelopes, too. There was a time when I was I child that my mother told me a story about cockroaches laying their eggs in the envelope glue, and if you cut your tongue on it, the eggs would end up inside your tongue and hatch eventually.
It didn’t help my distaste for the envelopes, to be sure.
Where is that man?”, I think, as I pace back and forth, thoughts of mistrust and savagery screaming through the blur of my conscious. The package was late. In fact, the package had been late, for six days now. How will I ever know what has become of my darling device? Only mystery and a fine layer of dust on my banister would respond, and even then held no answers in the bright mid-fall sun. Oh, such words I would have for that postman, if ever he did come.
Friedrich mailed the bomb to his enemy, placing it in the mailbox. He carefully calculated the time it would take in transit and had set the timer appropriately. He weighed it to make sure that even with packaging, the small explosive parcel would get in under the 13-oz. weight limit for mailbox pickups. Two days later, he walked down his driveway to his mailbox to find, curiously, that same package he’d sent. The last thing he ever saw were the words, “postage due.”
It’s the most effective way of being original, unique, showing the world what you are about. Or at least it could be. Problem is….stamps don’t give you enough choices. I don’t want different kinds of puppies on my mail I’m sending out; it’s not me
I miss mail. Writing a letter to a dear friend on lovely stationary. Catching up with the news and sending good thoughts to someone so far away. Addressing the matching envelope carefully so the address will reach the intended reader. Feeling good about taking the time to reach out and say hi to the one you are thinking about….Then looking endlessly for the postage stamps that you know are here somewhere…Yup, those were the good old days!
Postage! Postage stamp! Stamps are on the way out! And so is the mail!
Hurrah hurrah! I feel sad for the mail! What better than to wake up one morning and find out that someone put in the time and effort to handwrite you a letter?
Postage is something that is extraordinary. At only a few cents you can send love, hate, and hope to anywhere in the world. If you think about it, that is a lot of power that people don’t use enough. Maybe there is someone who needs to hear from you soon. No cold email, but a warm handwritten letter of love. Send some love …
The postage it takes to send
You a token of my appreciation
Like a penny for my thoughts
or thirty-seven
The time it takes to write
Pen to paper
Seal the envelope
Return the favor
Please
The postage on the letter was minimal. It must have been from in town. Daisy opened the letter, expecting some sort of bill, or thank you card. Instead, she received nothing but a rubber band and a shoe string. Curious.
The postage I have paid for all the words I left unfinished and unsaid is pushing multicolored envelopes your way and the gentleman with the glasses is beginning to remember my name.
there is a time in every man’s life when he has to think about letters. Not just letters, but the postage that he is going to put on those letters. Will it be simple, emblazoned with a flag, or delicate, with leaves blowing in an autumn wind.
stamps, writing, a love letter that you don’t send and one that you do.
flying, traveling, licking envelopes
slow and steady or air mail
i hope it gets there
or maybe that’s why i hand deliver.
The mail came early that day. I spent hours and hours thinking about why the mailman would bring it so early. In my mail, there was a letter, one of the ages, from him to me. From his soul to my heart.
“Hi Ellen!” I started off my postcard to her, I was vacationing in Hawaii, I promised her I would. All I knew to say was Hi, so I left it at that, stuck the postage stamp and sent it on it’s way
This word sits unused in a bin, like a black and white television. Who uses postage when we can wing our thoughts to the end of the earth with a button click or a mouse flick?
I was excited; today was the day. I ran to the mailbox with anticipation in my eyes and a pep in my step. When I opened it, nothing but disappointment stared me in the face. It hadn’t come yet.
She licked the edge of the envelope, wrinkling her nose. Too slowly and she have to stand the taste longer; too fast and she’d risk having to do it again because of insufficient wetness. Why couldn’t it taste nice, like strawberries or chocolate? Every time she did it she wondered.
Mom said, “I need stamps.”
I took the note and attached money to the mailbox.
Next day, voila!
This was when I was six. My, how times have changed!
kay: postage? all i can think about is a postage note. which i love them. they help me so much. i’m always in need of little reminders and they are always there for me.
meg: i want a letter, a random letter from someone who use to care. All it needs to say is hello and i wanted to write you something personal. sent to my room with a postage.
My mind swirled with anticipation as I opened up the mailbox. It would be here today. I knew it would. It HAD to be. I was skeptical, but crazed with excitment as I ripped the mailbox open, AND YES! There it was! My Lion King 2 VHS!
I really like postage. I mean I send out so many letters and postcards a week that I need lots of postage to make them arrive. I send international which costs almost a dollar and then inside the country which is 44 or 28 cents depending. I love postage!!
Another reason why postal mail is becoming outdated. Emails, instant messages, etc. are free to send to people. Soon everything will be digital. It makes me a little sad because there’s something to be said for hard copies and seeing actual handwritten text.
How many stamps do I need for this letter? Who the hell knows. Apparently it costs 7-something to send a letter in one day. Maybe I’ll just drop this one off myself.
I was walking to the post office the other day, not really expecting anything to be in my box. Then I turned the key, opened it up, and inside was a note. It said four simple words, “Have a great day”.
The Kindle that Stephen King wrote about in his novella “UR” was pink. It reminded me of how Apple products always have lots of different colors to suit their different consumers’ tastes. I wonder if Kindle will ever follow in their footsteps. Because I do know some people who buy things just because of their color.
I think I’ve only forgotten the postage on one letter I sent. It was a Christmas letter, so that sucked.
This is a letter to a girl. I’m sending it priority. It’s in my hand. I’m going to send it. I mean it. I put the correct postage on it. I’m ready. Here I go. I’m going to send this letter.
After watching Jane Austin’s “sense and sensibility” and “Pride and prejudice” quite recently, I am amazed at how much letter writting and postage played inn terms of a role and its importance for both narratives
post
age
stage
page
stag
ate
paste
gate
eat
goat
tag
past
stop
seat
pot
tap
I never leave my corner, but I travel all the world. Life is good.
I’m currently abroad, and I want to send postcards to my friends, but I’m not sure how. What format should I use to write the address? How long will it take to get there? How much will the postage be? And how will I communicate with the people at the office? Not knowing the language is getting a bit rough.
Postage and Handling. By definition is – the cute little payment I make to receive my goods in desired condition. I feel at ease with my money
m.
There’s this weird thing called postage, which for some odd reason costs money to buy. It seems as if the government does whatever it wants and taxes on the most pointless things, such as junk food, housing, and of course, postage. There’s absolutely no point making us pay 3 cents or 3 dollars or anything of the sort to talk to someone. In fact, they’re making us pay to write a more sincere letter to someone. It’s ridiculous. It seems America is getting an England complex when it comes to taxes.
I licked the back of the postage stamp and stuck it to the letter. Hopefully it would reach my brother, because that was to be the last time I spoke to him. I would probably never get a reply, I would never look for one. Maybe someday Prescott Prep would get a return letter, but I never would.
The postage stamp was placed ever so carefully in the top right corner of the envelope. The envelope was licked and sealed very neatly, the address written in beautiful black ink. She kissed the letter one last time for luck before pushing it into the mailbox, where it slithered down to join the rest of the mail in waiting.
I really hate the taste of stamps. Of envelopes, too. There was a time when I was I child that my mother told me a story about cockroaches laying their eggs in the envelope glue, and if you cut your tongue on it, the eggs would end up inside your tongue and hatch eventually.
It didn’t help my distaste for the envelopes, to be sure.
Where is that man?”, I think, as I pace back and forth, thoughts of mistrust and savagery screaming through the blur of my conscious. The package was late. In fact, the package had been late, for six days now. How will I ever know what has become of my darling device? Only mystery and a fine layer of dust on my banister would respond, and even then held no answers in the bright mid-fall sun. Oh, such words I would have for that postman, if ever he did come.
I need more postage stamps because there’s so much mail I need to go through. I thought that it was going to be easy, but not so much.
Friedrich mailed the bomb to his enemy, placing it in the mailbox. He carefully calculated the time it would take in transit and had set the timer appropriately. He weighed it to make sure that even with packaging, the small explosive parcel would get in under the 13-oz. weight limit for mailbox pickups. Two days later, he walked down his driveway to his mailbox to find, curiously, that same package he’d sent. The last thing he ever saw were the words, “postage due.”
It’s the most effective way of being original, unique, showing the world what you are about. Or at least it could be. Problem is….stamps don’t give you enough choices. I don’t want different kinds of puppies on my mail I’m sending out; it’s not me
I miss mail. Writing a letter to a dear friend on lovely stationary. Catching up with the news and sending good thoughts to someone so far away. Addressing the matching envelope carefully so the address will reach the intended reader. Feeling good about taking the time to reach out and say hi to the one you are thinking about….Then looking endlessly for the postage stamps that you know are here somewhere…Yup, those were the good old days!
Postage! Postage stamp! Stamps are on the way out! And so is the mail!
Hurrah hurrah! I feel sad for the mail! What better than to wake up one morning and find out that someone put in the time and effort to handwrite you a letter?
Marvelous!
Postage is something that is extraordinary. At only a few cents you can send love, hate, and hope to anywhere in the world. If you think about it, that is a lot of power that people don’t use enough. Maybe there is someone who needs to hear from you soon. No cold email, but a warm handwritten letter of love. Send some love …
The postage it takes to send
You a token of my appreciation
Like a penny for my thoughts
or thirty-seven
The time it takes to write
Pen to paper
Seal the envelope
Return the favor
Please
The postage may be too high, I suppose. But I’ll send my heart to you anyway.
The postage on the letter was minimal. It must have been from in town. Daisy opened the letter, expecting some sort of bill, or thank you card. Instead, she received nothing but a rubber band and a shoe string. Curious.
The postage I have paid for all the words I left unfinished and unsaid is pushing multicolored envelopes your way and the gentleman with the glasses is beginning to remember my name.
there is a time in every man’s life when he has to think about letters. Not just letters, but the postage that he is going to put on those letters. Will it be simple, emblazoned with a flag, or delicate, with leaves blowing in an autumn wind.
stamps, writing, a love letter that you don’t send and one that you do.
flying, traveling, licking envelopes
slow and steady or air mail
i hope it gets there
or maybe that’s why i hand deliver.
The mail came early that day. I spent hours and hours thinking about why the mailman would bring it so early. In my mail, there was a letter, one of the ages, from him to me. From his soul to my heart.
I’d mail my heart to you.
No matter the price.
“Hi Ellen!” I started off my postcard to her, I was vacationing in Hawaii, I promised her I would. All I knew to say was Hi, so I left it at that, stuck the postage stamp and sent it on it’s way
This word sits unused in a bin, like a black and white television. Who uses postage when we can wing our thoughts to the end of the earth with a button click or a mouse flick?
I was excited; today was the day. I ran to the mailbox with anticipation in my eyes and a pep in my step. When I opened it, nothing but disappointment stared me in the face. It hadn’t come yet.
She licked the edge of the envelope, wrinkling her nose. Too slowly and she have to stand the taste longer; too fast and she’d risk having to do it again because of insufficient wetness. Why couldn’t it taste nice, like strawberries or chocolate? Every time she did it she wondered.
the man said the postage was free
but the other man said his love could never be
so i sent the letter, full of doubt
upon my lips, a quivering pout