I love reading old letters. The yellowed ones, they smell like old, unread books. I read, re-read, smile fold them and keep them back in the safe. That’s where they belong. Letters are those small-little pieces of heart which were once emptied on the paper, shedding off all the inhibitions. They are relics of the days gone by. Happy or sad, somehow, I can’t get myself to destroy any of the letters I ever received.
I have written lots of letters on birthdays and on New Year eves. We used to wait for the letters on our birthdays, didn’t we? I have loved letters much more than text messages, always. There is nothing lovelier than reading old letters and smiling. You cannot re-visit a wonderful phone conversation, but you surely can do it with letters. But not all letters are worth a read, I agree on that so no debates there.
Letters, they always brought a smile on my face. The questions posed in the letters, they have long been answered. The assertions made in those tiny pieces of papers, have grown or altered with time. The regrets discussed, and the problems shared bring a solace now. Someone said it rightly, “one of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer”.
I want to write more letters to the people who matter the most, and I want to receive bundles of them too.