I’ve written a few love letters in my life, but could never muster up the courage to deliver them. I would hold on to them for awhile, hidden away from prying eyes, eventually to dispose of them in an appropriate manner once the romance had fizzled. Maybe if I had sent one, things would have turned out differently. Maybe not. Either way, it will remain a mystery.
Perhaps the quintessential love letter is the realm of the brave, a method of communication only for those confident enough to bare their soul on paper and deliver it to the object of their affection, not knowing how it will be received. That type of declaration is beyond my capabilities. I’m just too guarded, I’ve been told.