Maybe we could say goodbye to Facebook, and cut out all the noise from our lives.
The constant urge to be liked, the need to be interesting, the hole that just doesn’t fill.
And pick a paper and pen.
Make the postman relevant again.
Slow down. Take our own sweet pace to form a reply.
And there would be no hurry to open a letter or write one.
Since what would await me would be priceless- the curves of your e’s, the slant of your writing that I just can’t imagine, the scent of your ink mingled with the imperceptible scent of you in my hand. It would matter no longer what you said, as long as you said anything at all.
And letters would be preserved, unlike chats deleted. I would own a piece of you that will forever be mine.
And when we would get old, or die young, they would glimpse the room full of letters, our journey from steady hands to shaky ones, and wonder, at a friendship that outlasted Facebook.