are we still writing them?

Are we still writing love letters?
I hope so. I really do.

I’ve always loved them. Not just one. All of them. The messy ones, the confident ones, the ones that say too much and the ones that stop right before they should. I love the idea of someone sitting down and thinking, I want her to read this slowly.

There’s something very intimate about a love letter. Someone choosing words instead of rushing through a feeling. Someone admitting affection without hiding behind it. I like that kind of courage.

I love when they’re handwritten. I like seeing the pauses. The crossed-out words. The parts where you can tell they hesitated and kept going anyway. It feels personal in a way nothing else does.

I don’t want just one love letter. I like them the way I like roses, more than one, scattered through time. A letter for missing me. A letter for wanting me. A letter for thinking about me when I wasn’t there. I think love should leave a paper trail.

There’s something delicious about knowing someone sat somewhere and thought of you long enough to write. That they wanted to be clear. That they wanted to be remembered.

I still believe in love letters because they feel indulgent. Romantic. Slightly unnecessary in the best way. Like perfume before bed or lipstick at home.

So yes, I hope we’re still writing them.
I know I am.

Some things are worth lingering over.