The Adorable Stalkers

When is the last time you received a love letter? Handwritten. Heartfelt. And delivered to your door.

Thinking back, I can only recall two occasions. Once, in early college an ex-boyfriend brought me a note after we broke up. It was composed on white lined paper, likely during an Econ class, and torn unevenly from the pad. It was sweet. And I probably still have it. The second instance occurred in high school when a boy sent me a mixed tape and a note telling me to come to his college the next year. (Yes, I said a cassette tape. I’m that old. And no, I didn’t go there.)

I ask because writing love letters is important. I believe putting your words down on a page so that someone else can read them and re-read them is far more meaningful than saying them aloud. Because sound only travels so far. And your memory can only recall so much. Love letters are bold. They are scary to write and scary to open and they force you to respect the author no matter what your response is.

I received another such letter yesterday. At my office. From a boy I dated months ago briefly. It made me smile, appreciate his effort and courage, and then think: I wish it was from someone else. I wandered back to my desk wondering why it seems you have to breakup before someone realizes how much they want to hold your hand. Then I checked my email. One new message. From my new person.

“Just wanted to talk to you – but wrote you an email instead.”

I’ll take it.