I mourn the letter, especially the literary love letter, as a form of art as well as communication. Reading the correspondences of writers and artists of the past, I envy them, and regret the death of something beautiful. I wrote letters once – found the right paper, the right pen, the right words. In the early days of email, my university days, the old form of communication intersected with the new one. I still wrote letters then, long letters crammed full of drawings and song lyrics and messy handwriting and love. It ended suddenly when two letters I mailed didn’t reach their intended recipient. Mistrust burst out on both sides on what was already messy emotional terrain. The friendship ended. I stopped writing letters then. I took to the digital, and lost the intimate, tangible joy of holding something carefully crafted – one word at a time – by loving hands.
From 100 Words: The Beauty of Brevity. Word prompt: literary.