I love a hand written letter. The kind you not only put thoughts into, but all your senses to make it happen. A letter that can be held in your hands and know that the sender also held it. A letter that sometimes holds smudges of ink or stains from tears to have it expressed.
As a teen I stumbled upon such letters that were written by my parents to each other. I kept going back to that pile that was neatly tied and surprisingly stored in the fruit cellar, and read them over and over. I decided then, that somewhere along the way, I would have a neatly tied pile of my own. Hand written with love expressed. Mainly, a letter filled with words written only for me.
As the years went by, I have written many cards instead of buying them preprinted. I have attached pictures along with the text of what I wanted to say with heartfelt love. And I have written many verses that clearly would be good enough for a Hallmark card. Since life has a way of twisting things around, I would say that there could indeed be a neatly tied stack if they were all compiled.
But it's those memories of a hand tied pile of long ago that seem to stand out in my mind. That time when I first fell in love with a hand written letter.
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