What's in a package?

I wish I could do more justice to the beauty of yesterday, but I'm afraid that if I elaborate, the words will come out as cliches.

There are some packages that seem too important that there is a gnawing reluctance to share them because, after all, when they are opened, the only person to whom they will matter is you. Once it's there, words are never enough to express gratitude over such a thing. There will only be memory, experience, and the deafening beating of your heart pumping in your ears, the racing pulse in your wrist. You wonder. How can something so small mean so much to someone, anyone at all? How rarity connotes significance. How momentous and life-altering. You deserve it; you got lucky. Blessing; determination; Lady Luck. Yet another rejection or an acceptance? At the end of the day, it's there, in front of you, in your hands. And, it's yours.

This is one of those packages - a packet in an express mail delivery bag that might have been lying on the coffee table for the past fifteen hours, and would have continued basking there for the entire week had not my mother pointed it out. An invitation. For what? For who? From whom? The worst feeling is listening to the peeling of the scotch tape, smelling the fresh special paper tucked neatly inside. Yet the best one is knowing the content and finding yourself crying and shaking at the same time. A salutation. And it's mine.

Legit: the most important things are the hardest to say.