No one writes letters anymore

I had never seen her so happy. She said hello and hugged me tightly and I could feel her smiling as she was doing it. I knew it wasn’t because of me, but enjoyed seeing her joyful. For the first time ever, the happiness was real.

I remember the look on her face when she carefully took out the folded piece of paper out of her purse. The words were scribbled in soft crayon and she liked to always carry it with her. ‘No one writes letters anymore’, I thought to myself.

And then there were the days when her smile would completely fade away. She still caried with her the folded letters, but never took them out. It was a silent sadness that was at times painful to watch.

But she never complained. She knew some days would be her happiest and most fulfilling and others filled with a very bitter unhappiness. And she chose to live both*. She chose to feel. Because feeling, regardless of its nature, is what made her who she was.

*Most probably hoping time would be on her side and fade away the second type of days. She still does.


~ de Andra pe 13/04/2015.

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