To my Beloved Reader,

I once went to a rather strange play. It was about a young man who traveled to Paris in search of his past, taking with him a bundle of love letters. The letters were old and faded; they had been written by his grandfather to his grandmother long, long ago.
As he read through the letters in a small apartment in Paris, he encountered the all-engulfing , romantic, fiery love that his grandparents had shared. But the letters only told half the story, as his grandfather had saved none written to him.
This young man in continually inspired by the words of love put on paper. Finally, he reads one last letter. This one spoke of deep sorrow. His grandfather had outlived his beautiful wife, and dearly regretted not saving the letters she wrote to him. She had saved every word he ever wrote to her in a beautiful box so that she could remember his love at any moment. But he did not and, once she was gone, wished that he had something to hold in his hand and read with his heart.

As I walked out of the theater at the end of the play, I thought through all the keepsakes I have: playbills from shows I loved, pictures of friends, movie ticket stubs and dried flowers. The ones that are most precious to me are the letters that were written to me. They are there when I need them to reread and remember that I am loved and full of potential.

Today is National Letter Writing day, which is why I have written this letter to you, dear Reader. The month of love is just around the corner. The world will tell you that you should be buying chocolates, flowers, shiney gifts, but sometime the best most precious gift you can give is a heartfelt letter full of the reasons that your special someone is just so special.

Write well, dear Reader.

With Love,
A. Lirael Flint

 

 

 

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