everytime i sit down to write you a letter, i pick out the choicest paper. i make sure my pen has plenty of ink. i turn on some soft music with only stringed instruments. the occasional piano is fine as long as it’s twinkling keys and not pounding them. then i reread everyletter you’ve ever written me. i get to know your personality all new and refreshed, watching your train of thought barrel along the lines and switch ever-so-quickly when you remember something only slightly related but very exciting. i pay attention to the slight breaks of your pen, noticing the pause of thought, imagining you placing your hand on your chin and looking up at the ceiling trying to find the exact word that will illustrate your meaning. once i’ve read them all and smiled at your especially sweet words at the ends, i put my head down and begin a fast-paced recollection of my life over the past few days. my thoughts and dreams that have surfaced recently. my joys and fears. when i am done, i reread it. i don’t correct spelling, punctuation or grammar, i just reread. just so i am sure. then slowly fold. carefully. place into envelope. lick and stick. address. return address. stamp. then i place it in my mailbox triumphantly. another accomplishment. and i sit down with a beer on the patio and wait for the mailman to come. i smile when he removes my letter to you. it’s on its way. now i wait for you to write me back. again.
