If I could, I would write you a letter; I don't know you, but that would hardly matter.
In glistening ink, I would fill the page with important words. I would ornament some with superfluous punctuation and leave others to their own rawness.
I would remind you that you are beautiful. I would ask you not to fear. I would bequeath upon you courage to let go. I would tell you to turn inward if you cannot find truth on the surface of your surroundings.
And then I would draw my pen across these grains of paper, my dear laureate, in the telling of a tale - my tale. Perhaps ours are not so different. Perhaps this story and these words will one day cease to be mine alone.
And once written, I would gently fold the words upon one another, slipping them between the encasement of an envelope. I would seal it with my own tongue and endorse it with a stamp. Perhaps I would tie it up in string for good measure before it left my hands past the thin mailbox slot and began its journey to you.
And you may not need them now. These words may at first strike you as immaterial. But one day, the moment will supply the need and you will go looking for them. Indeed, everything will depend upon these words. and when you find them, buried at the heart of your closet, you will reread and reread until the words are ever presently before you when you close your eyes, assuring you that you are not alone.
This is what letters have done for me. Its what I would love to do for you. As I know not where you are, I will wait for you to find me. And so begins my Little Letters Series™. The post box ceases to transport any better than this blog, so here I will post letters to and from all persons, places, or things.
Mr. postman, our dear blue-hatted friend, is closer than you think.