We’ve all written them or have gotten them on various occasions. Now I’m not talking about formal letters. Those many of us are still waiting for.
I’m talking about letters on birthdays, at hospital beds, even letters just expressing your feelings. Or the best kind, the ones which just talk about everything and keep you excited to get your hands on another pen scribble.
I recently found around a hundred letters while cleaning out my closet. Yes I’m a hoarder. And proud to be one. I’ve found tazos, birthday cards, chits from classroom dramas and even stickers/tattoos that would come with chewing gum.
Now some of these letters date back to 2006. And some to 2015.
As the day goes by, people change. We change within minutes. We change our minds, our hearts and even our entire personality. And here I am with letters. Letters which speak wonderfully about the type of person I was seen to be. Letters that praise my existence in their lives. Letters that remind me of promises. Their words bring the same warmth that stabbed me the first time I read it. Kindness can be hurtful too. Sometimes you fail to see yourself how you should be seen.
But what hurt more is that the writers have changed.
Where does that leave the person holding onto their praises? Do I believe them? If they have changed their hearts, have they changed their minds too?
I will hoard these tokens of assurance. I may never know what they’d write if they come across a blank page and a pen. What have their minds concluded about me all these years later? It’s frightening to think that maybe some of them won’t even have anything to write.