Why I Keep the Postcards I Don’t Send

What a soda, a leaf, and a bird taught me about slowing down

I buy postcards on every vacation. Fridge magnets, too. The magnets always find their place — on the fridge, a metal shelf, the side of my wardrobe. But the postcards? They end up in a white box with a purple bow, tucked away in a drawer.

Among them is one I didn’t buy. I found it the day I moved into my current home — unpacked everything in one feverish evening. I’ve always been that person: I can’t relax until the room is in order. Not even for water, not even when I’m sick.

I tell myself that once it’s all done, I’ll feel calm. But usually, I’m too drained to enjoy the stillness I worked so hard for. That’s when I noticed the card. I’m always rushing, rarely present in moments like these. If it had been misplaced or thrown out with the packing paper, I’d have regretted it more than I’d like to admit.

The postcard had a still life — a watercolor drawing of a fruit on a flower. Soft, strange, and almost dreamlike. On the back, it read:

“Thinking of you and the soda.”

No name. No address. No sender. No receiver.

Odd, right? You and the soda. Who was this meant for? A first love? An ex? A friend long gone?

The stories were endless and strangely comforting. In my imagined versions, I could almost hear the fizz of soda and laughter. Maybe it was a hot summer afternoon—two…