(1) it breaks my heart to throw away handwriting.
with books, clothes, throw pillows, the photographs of my youth- i can be ruthless, but give me a valentine received in 1995 and signed "love, gran burvil", and i will cling tenaciously to that silly thing.
never mind that it's not a letter. it's simply a card carrying sentiments written by someone else and co-signed by burvil, and yet the act of letting that go, of declaring it garbage, is my undoing.
this is, in large part, due to my only childness, my abandonment issues and my morbidity.
because i really do assume there will come a time when everyone around me will have died and i will be all alone. in that scenario (a scenario that, in my vivid imaginings, always involves a sun porch, a rocking chair and yellow curtains blowing in a gentle breeze), i imagine the letters of all my dead friends and family will be a great comfort.
if i pitch them now, whatever will i read then?
(2) i have maybe the best friends ever.
because among all the valentines from burvil, there's an amazing array of congratulatory cards.
partner celebrating the removal of my braces. libby writing to commemorate my moving in with donovan. kbg offering congrats on the move to chicago. lindear giving pats on the bottom when i moved to a bigger place.
this seems maybe fairly standard until you consider that nearly all of these letters were sent during the age of email. and yet, the writer put pen to paper and a stamp on an envelope. something that probably seemed quite small at the time and which feels so big in retrospect.