Each day once a day the mail would come, perhaps a letter from a loved one, a post card from a traveling friend, hand written, time taken to speak with you from far away or cross town. A pen spreading ink on paper, thought with emotion messages of love traveling down a country road for you just you. Read savored and saved for later you would write back. Across town or across the sea someone waited for your response, your emotion, your love to come back to them on paper gently spread with ink of time taken to return your love. Then tucked into a shoe box to be reread and savored again tomorrow or in ten years.
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