Dear…yours truely

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July 1, 2013 by Syd

It is one of these days when all you want to do is go home, hug your kids, throw out anyone else and even kiss your dog. One of these days you just want to close the door, make a coffee and listen to Maria Callas for hours to find some peace of mind. A day of unspeakable nothingness when this small little gesture from somewhere tells you it’s all worth it.

Today it was a letter. Between all these shitty bills and promotions and threats that my house could be full of radongas and the pizza junk food ads there it was. A blue letter. I didn’t even know they are still selling these things. Airmail, blue. striped on the edges. And without opening it, the hate, the boredom, the tiring taste of Monday was gone.

I made myself a coffee before opening, finished my chores at home with a smile and all this time it sat there on my table. This blue envelope with my adress on it. Signed, sealed, stamped. I didn’t have to look at the senders adress. I would recognise your handwriting out of millions of peoples’. Something I can barely say about a lot of people as nobody is writing by hand anymore. But I know yours. I know it from birthday cards, from signatures in books you send me, from post its on a huge american fridge, saying I shouldn’t forget my dentists appointment, my umbrella or my head.

One small envelope and I am sure that if I sniffed at it I could smell your cigars, your aftershave and the familiar smell of your room. I can see you writing this letter to me at your big oak desk facing the two cherry trees in the backyard. I can see you leaning over the paper, slowly putting letter after letter neatly on this paper without lines. And I can see you smiling and smoking and thinking about the right words to put on this piece of paper. There is no backbutton, no thesaurus, no spelling check and still there is no mistake in your words, well chosen words and maybe that’s what makes this blue little envelope to something special. I can feel the time running between those words as if the big loud thing you call an alarm clock, the one with the folding numbers has sent its sound with this letter. I see you lighting one of these godawful expensive and stinking and political incorrect cuban cigars. And Maria Callas, I swear you were listening to her while writing as it was the first time I listened to this wonderful voice really when I was watching you writing a letter.

And just for all this peace and calmness one single handwritten letter can provide in these fast and ever changing times, like a big giant stone blocking a fast train running to nowhere I would do anything to let you know how much I love you. But I will take my time and think and have a nice cup of coffee and some beer and I will wait for a nice day and write you a letter and I will hope that my words will be as kind and wonderful as yours. And all I can hope for is that you will also see the wonderful irish sky I will see from my window and the smile on my face and it will end  with:

Yours truely

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