LOVE LETTERS from long ago…

Never let the realist kill the romantic in you. I pity the realist in me if it even tries. My romantic side will kick its ass. The realist helps you live life, but the romantic creates a life worthwhile.

Love letters from long ago. Handwritten. Without spell checking and editing. A heart’s words dashed off simply on plain paper. In the envelope, a stamp and on its way. No way to pull it back—no retrieve and delete.

We wrote them and waited.

When we received, we read and re-read them.

We saved them.

If we’re fortunate… we find them again.

And when/if you do… they were—are—a picture of young love when everything was fresh. New. And how its taste, sound, and color—the romance—affected everything in your world. She/He was your world… and all you wanted was to be together.

Clearing out folders in my office, I found them with documents and personal correspondence. I read them and felt that tingle; damn near like when I first received 40 years ago. My eyes misted a bit, lost in the memory, and Alpha looked at me, “Dad?”

I handed her the letter in my hand and smiled. She and Beta read it, looked at each other in that way twins do. “Take that to your mother,” I told them.

A few minutes later, they came back grinning. “Mom says it’s mushy…”

I took the letter from Beta and went to find my wife. She was in the garage, fiddling with something in her car. “You don’t love mushy?” I came around to the open door, leaned in, and put my arms around her for a kiss—I felt the returned kiss turn into a grin as she looked over my shoulder through the windshield. From the laundry room door, where Alpha and Beta watched us, I heard: Wuv… twu wuv…


Daphne and I celebrate our 39th anniversary in June 2022.

Never let the realist kill the romantic in you. I pity the realist in me if it even tries. My romantic side will kick its ass. The realist helps you live life, but the romantic creates a life worthwhile.