No One Writes Love Letters Anymore

No one writes love letters anymore

In the pile of takeaway menus and free papers she spots a letter without print...that's cursive she know...handwritten, what could it be amongst that litter.

It's just a card but it feels so heavy, what can pen ink weigh? What could it say?....could it be...she thinks...could it be for me...can I bear to see...but surely can't be shes sure, people don't write love letters anymore.

There's something on the back...she can't believe it, it's sealed, sealed's sealed with a kiss. She doesn't understand, this stuff comes from books not for someone with her looks, this is a movie scene but she knows, she even says out's for me.

She knows who it must be from...oh god she shouts. I bet it's a joke from my mum. He's never been this way before, he's never even tried to explore his romantic side...and she's never asked why but that's just men...isn't it?

While he's away they just send the norm, you know. Texts and tweets, emails and chats, Facebook sessions and stuff like that. But now she's thinking and things have been quiet, the messages seem to have stopped. She knows he was being redeployed or moved or sent or...or...

Panic grabs her heart, it's struggling to start, it's struggling to stop. Open it, open the letter, but her fingers won't let her. She stops......breathes

.....breathes. The corners rip like autumn leaves, the card is plain but somehow smells like rain. Not just rain...the kind of rain that drips off the face of a broken hearted girl in a soppy film...she feels this can't be real. She's being silly...he's written me a letter she thinks. Why stress out all just about a man who's trying to shout his love. Ok he's never been that way before but shes sure...she's sure...but.......people don't write love letters anymore

She reads.........she reads

Now here she stands, that love letter in her was written as a goodbye. Silent she falls just watching the wall with the sound of the kitchen clock.....

.....tick tock, tick tock....and then on the front door a knock.
That's a knock she his. He'd always knock like that, that stupid way he did...does...


No one writes love letters anymore

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