Love Letters

All I really need is a love letter. Jerrod says that love letters carry old news, but I long for a card or note (hey, I'm not even talking about flowers here!) that says, "I'm thinking about you" or "I miss you" or his classic "Come back to me... Come back to Cold Mountain". ANYTHING!

In his defense, when I first moved to New York he sent me 24 pieces of mail in October. Granted, they were just pictures of animals from National Geographic, but I'm sure that he thought with the right sun-shiney mascot (such as the bo-wevil) would brighten my early gloomy days. He seemed to have carefully clipped the pictures from the magazine and then scratched "I love you" in silver sharpie at the top of each one. I'm being generous by calling those love letters.

But it's been a year now and maybe I'm asking too much. Living 1500 miles from each other doesn't necessarily mandate written correspondence; but there is something magical in the art. Just the envelope makes my heart skip. Just flipping through bills and magazines to see his handwriting scrawling our addresses on the front of a plain old bright white envelope and my day immediately takes a turn for the better. And there is something so heart-skippingly wonderful about peeling open the creased notebook paper (college ruled) and holding in my hands something that was created for me. Something that took more time than zapping an email across the networks.

I can't explain it, but when I do receive a love letter, I read it over and over and over again. I tuck it into a book or my journal. I fold it and unfold it. I memorize my favorite parts. He loves me. His words are there, bold and vulnerable, all at the same time.

There is nothing like an old-fashioned love letter.