#reblogging this because i work at the post office now
Bond: Once a little girl handed me a letter to Santa. When she did, I saw in her eyes something holy- I saw her trust, I saw her belief, her ideals. She saw a world with natural justice, with something holy to aspire to. Shining in her eyes was the unshakable belief that Santa was real, that good was rewarded, that evil was punished, that the world made sense. She handed me this trust, this sacred belief- it was not just a letter she gave me, but her belief that, no matter what, no matter how bad the world could be, that I could deliver her letter to Santa.
In the face of that, what could I do? What could I say? So I made journey to deliver that letter, to fulfill that sacred trust. Whenever I stumbled, whenever I faced the deadly chill, the monsters of myth, the inevitability of my own defeat, I saw the only thing more terrible than dying in a cold wasteland in search of something unreal-
I saw the light in her eyes flickering out. I saw her faith in the justice of the world falter, in the sacred trust of mail fail. For that trust, for that belief, for the beauty of faith, for the sanctity of Mail- I would deliver her letter, if I had to wrest forth from the primordial chaos the platonic form of Christmas spirit such that a Santa might exist to deliver it to. (5)
