I write constantly. I write all day at work. I write in my diary in the middle of the night, when things are bugging me, or when I want to capture moments that are too personal for Ye Olde Facebook or the Blog. I’ve blogged before about my weird propensity for making obsessive lists. I blog, period.
I write for self-expression, mostly, as you know. I don’t get paid a dime for this. I’m opinionated, and curious, and I often just don’t understand the way the world works. Even when I put it in writing, sometimes I still don’t get it, but it helps me sort things out.
Lately, though, I’ve been writing in an old, old tradition – the love letter. Well, actually it’s a new spin on an old tradition, the love e-mail. I’ve heard it argued that e-mail is impersonal and cold, and not a patch on the traditional bundle of love letters tied up with ribbon in a shoe box. I beg to differ. I can send thoughts as soon as they occur to me, without waiting to find a stamp or get to the post office before it closes. I get the thrill of multiple daily responses, without having to haunt the mailbox. It’s immediate, and gratifying.
And I’ve found someone who likes writing and receiving them as much as I do.
To anyone else, they’re probably silly, mushy and over-the-top. But, they’re not for anyone else. They’re for us. They’re a way of exchanging our ideas and values, getting to know one another better every day. They’re a beautiful adjunct to our relationship, and gosh, just absolutely dead romantic! Way gobs romantic. They’re a history of how this amazing thing evolved, from shy overtures to more overt declarations of affection. They’re helping me sort it out, this seems-impossible new thing.
So, when I miss him – I tell him so. It’s nice to come home to kind words and thoughts, rather than ads for boob jobs, and such. We have weirdly conflicting work schedules, so sometimes in-person just isn’t an option for too-long stretches. It helps to fill that gap, and it makes me happy. It makes us both happy.