Love Letters


Day Two: Love Letters

Years ago (26 to be exact!), IZ  began writing me these lovely, lovely letters. We weren’t dating yet, but far away from each other at college. And every week, I would find a letter in my box written on the softest rose colored paper. They smelled faintly of his cologne, his tiny script so familiar.  The distance between us bridged by words on a page. 

I was so lonely at college. Lonely for home, lonely for the familiar, lonely for him. His words made it easier to be apart, easier to stand the distance between us. 

Eventually, his letters would be full of his heart for me.  I returned his feelings in kind. We romanced and courted (such an old fashioned word!) on paper first.  Our letters filled with our hopes and dreams and our growing love for each other. And if you wonder how a long distance relationship can work: well, I would tell you letter writing doesn’t hurt! 

It became our tradition: to write love letters to each other whenever we were at a distance.  When he traveled for business, or I would leave to visit family: there was always a packet of letters waiting.  We mailed things in advance or tucked notes into suitcases. Little love notes shoved into hands at the airport, or hidden in coat pockets to be found later. 

I don’t think we’ve ever broken the tradition. I cannot recall a time apart from him that I didn’t also have a stack of love letters to keep me company. Typically with directions written on the envelope, “Open when you miss me.” “Open on Wednesday.” 

We travel less and less on our own these days: our life has let us spend what little time we do on the road, together. So, in the past few years the volume of actual letters has dwindled. But I remember all those love notes fondly. I read them from time to time: remember who we were when they were written. And I know he keeps all of my letters as well. 

Someday, our grandchildren will read our letters to each other (well, most of them!) and know that their grandparents loved each other enough to put pen to paper.  It’s a lovely thing to hear “I love you.” And perhaps, even more lovely, to read it. On rose colored paper — in the cramped hand of the one you adore. 




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