Your words
reach me,
via snail mail.
A white, plastic package arrives
from Canada.
Inside of which I discover
newspaper clippings,
magazine articles,
handmade paper,
a hand-scrawled note,
and a sticker.
Novel reminders of innocent sweetness
and the pure connections that distance and space can not eradicate.
Rather, time only serves to deepen and strengthen our bonds.
And I remember this me,
of days not too long ago when I would reach out and touch,
not via the computer, or Facebook, or some other social media
that only ever leaves me feeling that much more isolated and alone.
But rather, a vibrant and happy me who just wants you to know
that she loves you, and holds you in her heart
no matter where life takes her.
So, I think I'll spend less time these days
tending to the lightning-quick convenience of technology.
I think I am ready to return to those postage-stamped envelopes
and to my pen on the page,
writing you,
righting you,
wishing you
all that you wish
yourself.
