Dropping off handwritten letters at the post office, each written with care and sealed with melted wax—the old-fashioned way. This is one of my favorite things to do.
Mine is the heart of “the girl back home.” The one that waits loyally, intently for her sailor to return from faraway foreign shores. Whose top closet shelf holds a plain shoebox, tied shut by a frayed string, filled with letters that traversed the seas and mountains to deliver the stories, dreams, hopes, fears, and longings of her beloved. And the “I love you, I miss you” that seals moonlight.
I’m the girl back home that grew into an old woman with a plain shoebox on her top closet shelf. Each signed simply “Yours”, the letters she held close for a lifetime never revealed the name of the man for whom she waited. Loyally.