Hello my dear minxes….
How’s your summer going so far? I hope that you’re well and enjoying the sunshine / drizzle that keeps switching back and forth.
So what have I been up to?
Well I had very busy May/June/July. With serious deadlines popping up all over the summer the late spring and early summer blended into one and has been quite manic.
In the middle of all this, because of various projects and travelling distances, I was playing hostesses to my current fling more than usual. An inquisitive little fucker, looking around my bachelorette pad, he soon spotted a certain wicker basket, where I keep a selection of various goodies, and momentos, including a large stack of correspondence from friends, and exes.
On discovering this information, he immediately told his best friend about this box (No. They never, ever grow up), who upon his next trip dropping my fling off, tried to get into said wicker box to see what demons I was hiding. This mission proved fruitless, and I shooed them out and laughed at the thought of all the incredulity over a few unused sex toys (they didn’t give a damn about the letters). Hardly worth the hassle, although if that was enough to get them excited, they are far sadder than I thought and clearly need to experiment a lot more.
This morning was the first time I’d had a chance to have some proper time alone in my flat, and I remembered the interest in the box, and thought I’d go through it myself.
As suspected – a few old unused bits and bobs, sex dice, hand cuffs – and a lovingly kept pile of letters, including the love letters . I laughed at the anticlimax, and started sifting through the pile.
10 minutes later I was sobbing like a broken hearted teenager.
It is amazing, the power of something so simple as handwritten words on pieces of paper.
Memories came crashing back in waves…the pain of separation…the anticipation of the next meeting, a flash forward of entire relationships, how we met, how they ended….the highs and the lows, all in a tsunami of emotion, evoked from words on a page. I felt my heart turn and surge and soar and break all at the same time, and I wept as my fingers traced over handwriting of people I haven’t seen in years.
It’s not just what was said. It was the fact that the people had touched the page, and that this was their handwriting, not some cold impersonal font on an email, or worse, a text, or message casually dashed off…the bare minimum of contact and effort to keep a friendship or relationship going.
Keeping in touch used to be a lot more expensive and required a lot more effort, even 12 years ago…I’m laughing at the memory of the dial up tone to check email or myspace. Mobile phones were pay as you go, and had no cameras. I first started dating in the infancy of the digital online age, and was lucky enough to catch the tail end of old school communications.
I loved getting letters from people. I haven’t written to anyone in years and I haven’t had a hand written letter in years, but I am glad that I used to, and that I have these memories. They are so personal, and for the record, are by far one of the most wonderful and romantic gifts I’ve ever received.
I can’t help but think that my current fling and his friend would have been far more horrified at my reaction to these letters than any number of devious sex toys they thought the box was hiding. As I sit here, reading, and smiling through my tears, I feel a little sad for them, as the reality is that so few people write any more, that messages like this are becoming very scarce…
” I really do miss you…It’s difficult not having you around. I feel like I’m missing a part of myself…I’m sorry I’m a sentimental fool.”