Tuesday, September 22, 2009
It’s not nearly as romantic as it used to be; once torn and tattered love letters lived tormented in a shoe box in the back corner of a forgotten closet. Now, love letters are a rare treasure. Instead it’s emails, text messages, Facebook conversations and breaking up over Twitter. These don’t last like letters. You get a virus or a new phone or someone hacks your account and all those personal and dear conversations and exchanges are simply gone. You can’t hold those in your arms in a dimly lit room, curled in a ball, as tears drop down your cheeks and make a small spattering sound upon the parchment. They don’t grow yellow and crack with age to prove to you where you’ve been and how far you’ve come. You can’t stare at the handwriting of your love and memorize every loop and slant and the way the i’s were dotted in that special way, only for you. You can’t smell the perfume that was delicately sprayed on the paper, just before it was placed in the envelope and sealed. It’s colder now. Just a click of a button and it’s all gone. Delete is so easy when there are no actual letters.