I do not get to take pictures with my lovers, sitting side by side, smiling, holding hands. I have only memories. Even though the core of each memory is intact,
momories themselves are faulty, blurring, forever changing, details vanishing.
Since childhood, my letters have been a prized possession. Now even more so.
When I miss the closeness of a friend, I turn to our letters. I share these in hopes that others in the spell of lust, love or friendship may feel the comforting spark of connection that writing can often bring.
