I Love Handwritten Letters
Please, who can say they do not? Who can say they are neither elated nor overwhelmed at the thought of opening that special envelope with the message crafted exclusively for you?
Handwritten letters are an art. They are not simply words, or anagrams, or slang phrases meant to deliver quick bullets of information. They are crafted pieces of art imbued with the emotions and feelings of the author who has taken their time to say, I value you so please accept this work of mine that you can know how much I think of you.
Some years ago now, my closest friend moved to the United States and was married. She, like I, had children, has grown a family, and built a life in which each of the other of us were not to be regular participants. Yet I still feel today that our bond is as strong as it was when we were together and the day we hugged each other goodbye. We have of course visited each other several times since. We do email often now for quick bulletins and we do speak on the phone, most usually at Christmas and birthdays. The depth of our continued closeness though stems completely from our written relationship. We write to each other on average every six weeks, but occasionally more frequently if the want arises. Our letters are always on a fine stationary, in a beautiful ink, and perfumed with our signature scents. We are in our letters as we were in school together, or at sleepovers giggling, or just sitting with each other as friends. We are still each other’s closest confidants. We have a special and cherished relationship that will continue for as long as we both see the value in it, and foster it through our letters.
My husband travels often for business and truly is away more than he is home. On days when he is set to leave he will go into his study and close the door spending a short while before coming out again and departing for his trip. After he is gone I know I will always be able to go into the study and there waiting on his desk will be a note. It will recall something we have just done together during his last time home, or it will promise of something to come when he returns again, and it will always mention the depth of his feelings for me. This note will be read and re-read day after day until he returns.
I have all the letters my friend has ever sent and I have all the notes my husband has ever left. They occupy a growing space in my dressing room but they are some of the most special treasures of my life and give to me a richness and depth of the love I feel for them both and the knowledge that they too feel this love for me.
Handwritten letters are an art. They are not simply words, or anagrams, or slang phrases meant to deliver quick bullets of information. They are crafted pieces of art imbued with the emotions and feelings of the author who has taken their time to say, I value you so please accept this work of mine that you can know how much I think of you.
Some years ago now, my closest friend moved to the United States and was married. She, like I, had children, has grown a family, and built a life in which each of the other of us were not to be regular participants. Yet I still feel today that our bond is as strong as it was when we were together and the day we hugged each other goodbye. We have of course visited each other several times since. We do email often now for quick bulletins and we do speak on the phone, most usually at Christmas and birthdays. The depth of our continued closeness though stems completely from our written relationship. We write to each other on average every six weeks, but occasionally more frequently if the want arises. Our letters are always on a fine stationary, in a beautiful ink, and perfumed with our signature scents. We are in our letters as we were in school together, or at sleepovers giggling, or just sitting with each other as friends. We are still each other’s closest confidants. We have a special and cherished relationship that will continue for as long as we both see the value in it, and foster it through our letters.
My husband travels often for business and truly is away more than he is home. On days when he is set to leave he will go into his study and close the door spending a short while before coming out again and departing for his trip. After he is gone I know I will always be able to go into the study and there waiting on his desk will be a note. It will recall something we have just done together during his last time home, or it will promise of something to come when he returns again, and it will always mention the depth of his feelings for me. This note will be read and re-read day after day until he returns.
I have all the letters my friend has ever sent and I have all the notes my husband has ever left. They occupy a growing space in my dressing room but they are some of the most special treasures of my life and give to me a richness and depth of the love I feel for them both and the knowledge that they too feel this love for me.
41-45, F
