Something about me is that i only take the time to revise & intentionally craft a piece of my writing into beautiful oblivion when I am handwriting a letter to someone that has been special in my life. My choice of stationary & pen is always thoughtful, I even go so far as to address an entire envelope & even have purchased a cute stamp a time or two. I always forget to take a picture of what I have written,then end up feeling kind of vulnerable until I ultimately forget that the letter ever even existed.
Today I opened my box of letters that I’ve never sent & decided to open them up instead of leaving them sealed for their ultimately imaginary delivery. The stream of my consciousness is almost harmonic with the sentiment of meaningful expression, the ache of forgotten feeling, & the art in not only the awareness of, but in the act of this pattern of behavior alone. Every single time I write a letter, it never occurs to me that i may not send this one either. I don’t even consider that it will never reach the audience of its intention. I like that about myself.
Opening the letters has me curious about the subconscious sense of self that has captured, articulated, & penned such literary wonders of love. My mind has been operating as a human that can express how they feel, does express how they feel, and has expressed how I feel.
The concept only lightly exists in the wind but my Higgs field is calibrated as if the intended reader of my poetic tendency had absorbed my letter and that we had shared that quiet experience of intimate exchange. I think these people know how I feel about them because they read my explicit language of such.
stormborns
origamiaround
jbbartram-illu
2087
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
andulkaphoto