A writer friend wondered if anyone still wrote letters by hand. Real handwritten, on paper, with pens, stamps, envelope- kinds of letters. He spoke of the intimacy of it.
He is so right.
Write.
In the past year I've actually starting writing cards again.
My personal relationship is stretched by distance. Thankfully, it is the geographical kind, not the emotional one.
Because my partner is working and living in another place, and even though we talk and Skype several times a day, I slip a card in the mail so that he'll have something to greet him when he comes home from work. He does the same for me.
It's always a wonderful surprise. And it does a little bit extra to make sure that the geographical distance doesn't become an emotional one.
This week I wrote to him on rice paper, using glass calligraphy pens and beautiful inks that I received as a birthday gift. I decorated the envelope, sliding the address across it, and took it to the post. I think it was as enjoyable for me to do, as it was for him to receive.
Yes, we email and we text.
But we also write each other love letters and send them by mail.
Those are a luxury.
I can't imagine how people could stand the wait, years ago, when writing letters was the only way to communicate. I can't fathom waiting weeks for contact, checking the mail every day, balancing on hope and disappointment. But I do know how special they felt when one would arrive. How they must have devoured every word, and then gone back a dozen times to feast again. There is something so wonderful in reading the handwriting of a loved one; to know that he has touch the page, sealed the letter.
And that he took the time to write.
As my friend says, "It just costs some time and thought"
He is so right.
Write.
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