Sometimes I wish I could throw my phone away – in an age so hung up on technology, how lovely it would be to send letters to you.
Writing my feelings was always so much easier than saying them, but when they’re stuck on a screen, they don’t feel as real. They become just another another status update, another tweet, another instant message… another meaningless, emotionless stamp in time. Just one button-click away from each other.
But there’s something so much more authentic, when the words on the paper have traveled miles, days and across continents, just to reach you.
I miss handwriting, I miss ink smudges and tear drops and accidental errors, scrubbed out and re-written.
I miss unfolding and folding beloved letters, reading and re-reading, until the paper grew worn and felt like velvet at the folds. I miss seeing the letters and words on pages ripped from books and notepads, that weren’t perfectly typed, but written, scrawled and scarred – imperfectly perfect – a story in a story.
But mostly, I just miss feeling something real.