Every Friday we unite for five minutes to write on one word. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on mail.
Go.
I am of a generation that is the one that started their formative years in one way, and by the time I hit my 20s, the whole game had changed.
I at one time, sent mail.
Letters to friends and family far away by sitting down and writing to them.
Calls were too expensive,
everyone didn't have a computer,
email was just starting to become a thing when I went to college and most of my friends only had a college address and could only check it at school.
So, we wrote to each other.
And since I am always better with the written word, I do miss it.
Now, every form of mail annoys me.
If my mailbox has things in it, that means the junk mail it out of control.
If I have an email, that means I have work to do
and I find myself spending actual time clearing my mail out of one form of my life or another.
But as I thought about the prompt today, I thought about this box that I have.
In my closet, front and center.
It's a pretty shoe box that is full of cards, messages and letters from you love.
The ones you would write to me just because.
The little notes you would leave me here and there.
And over our 16 years, the box is pretty full.
And even though I only now add to it for special occasions, birthdays and anniversaries,
the words you personally write, always move me.
They are words of our history, all that we have stormed together.
They are words of tomorrow and all we both look forward to.
They are words of appreciation of how much we are there for one another,
they are words you struggle to find while we talk,
but flow a little more freely on paper.
And as we know, words matter to me.
Appreciation matters to me.
That little box, full to the top, filled with your mail to me
matters to my heart.
Stop.
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