A Letter About Letters (Sort of)


How are you?

I’m alright, tired, but alright.

I just thought I’d write a kind of letter – because I’ve always loved receiving letters. Feels a little like Christmas, something that isn’t a bill or promotional or a politician’s letter with a printed signature. Something that’s more a slightly off-centre stamp, handwritten addresses and thoroughly licked envelopes.

…this certainly isn’t that and doesn’t pretend to be. I just thought I should say hello.

I’ve always wondered about writing letters. I’m not entirely sure how long they should be, or how personal, and how to sign them off. You don’t want to sound too formal, too dismissive, but then, you don’t want to treat the next few pages as though it were a diary, either. It’s a rather lost art – its necessity swept away by many and varied technologies its left to sentimental old souls like myself to carry it on.

Time passes more slowly in letters, one isn’t received until at least a few days after the aforementioned penned events written therein. So you end up mulling over everything that’s in front of you in a very gentle way. Especially if the person writing to you has replied to things or stories you mentioned in the previous letter.

And so you cast your mind back, and back, and back, until you remember the things you wrote before. And how you feel like a different person since then.

(Well – that’s how it works for me, anyway, I can’t speak for anyone else.)

Is this a letter about letters? I think that’s how it’s turned out, actually. Sorry about that.

You don’t have to reply, I don’t anticipate one. The fact that you’ve read this far is acknowledgement enough for me. Have a nice day, a nice dawn, a nice morning, a nice noon, afternoon, twilight and evening.

Sleep well, and dream well. (I know I will. I’m exhausted.)

And were this a letter, I would sign it:

Warmly yours,


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