There is something superbly romantic about sending letters. Actual letters. Written by hand, in an envelope, stamped and sealed. It’s too bad it’s a thing of the past. Of course, emails are quick, easy, accessible from anywhere nowadays and just plain BETTER in many ways. But they don’t have a personal touch, not unless you make each email a work of magnificent poetry and prose.
If anyone has read Stephen Fry’s The Stars’ Tennis Balls, they know that there is a wonderful description of how letters used to be in the first few pages. To anyone who hasn’t read the book – do. His descriptions of the letters of two teenage lovers, newly enamored with each other, are just incredibly funny and betimes even poignant.
A romantic to my core – sadly, I seem to be alone amongst my friends in this sentiment – I wish sometimes that I lived in a time where letters were exchanged as fast as possible and with excitement and were passionate and interesting. However, a cynic to my core as well, as I’ve stated before, I know that would mean we also would have to marvel at the price of stamps and swoon at everything and drink lots of tea or something. Perhaps not such a good idea then.