Letter Writing

It may seem silly to be writing a letter to the person you're sitting beside, but when two lives are as busy as ours, you begin to realize that sometimes the best way of communication is in letter form. A letter requires the receiver to take a pause from the rest of the world. The posture of reading, head down, eyes not making contact with passers-by, is a body signal to society that says, "hey, I'm reading, my mind is focused elsewhere at the moment." Generally--though sadly, not all the time--a would-be interrupter doesn't intrude. But even if the reader's concentration is broken momentarily, both reader and writer of the letter have the happy fortune of having the thoughts solidly in ink on paper. There is no train of thought to be derailed mid-voyage; it embarks and arrives in one piece (provided the letter is not lost in the mail.) In this manner as some friendships kept up during hard times.
And so, despite the fact that it's recipient sits right next to me in the matching brown armchairs of the library, I write on. The weekly letter, whether answered or not, sorts my thoughts. As much as I write for her, I'm also writing for myself. Much like my journal, I process important ideas, events, and thoughts as I write. But unlike my journal, having the conversation of a letter often stirs my thoughts more than usual. Its good for me.

Then there's the joy of finding something other than a graded french quiz in your mailbox. I check it almost every time I walk by. One can always hope. I write because I believe in the old rule... "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

I've walked around school this evening with the finished letter neatly folded in half, then in thirds, secured close with a paper clip and properly addressed with name and box number. I could hand deliver it--her door is kitty-corner to mine--but I will choose to drop it in the intermural mail slot tomrrow morning as I walk to the library. A mailbox should never be empty long.

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