Since my move I’ve realized something; with the technology we have today we do stay in contact with the people we love (or even don’t like) with just the press of a button or the flick of a switch. It really is wonderful.

I’ve honestly not missed my friends AS much as I would have (Of course I still miss you guys loads, but you get what I’m saying). At least I haven’t had as much time to miss them with web cams, instant messages, emails, texts, cell phones, land lines, etc. Hell, I even got to see the storm that rocked my old town just weeks after I had left. (Thanks Michelle!)

However, we have lost something because of this. Letter writing. I know, I know. You can sit down and type a nice long email. You can chat for hours on the computer or the phone. But there’s something to be said about the letter.

My husband and I met on the internet, back in the day when meeting on the internet was something new and different! (1997 to be exact) For two years and then some our main form of communicating with each other was email. We would instant message whenever we could and phone calls (especially with the introduction of calling cards) were something to be enjoyed. However, I remember how special it was to me when I would get a small hand written note, a little card, or even a lovely, long letter (more than two pages front and back) in the mail.

Each hand written gem was like a little gift. Just knowing that he had sat there with pen in hand, whether it was on the tube, in his flat, or even sat at the pub made me feel so special. The thought that his fingers had touched the pages, his breath had been on it, his eyes scanning the same words I was scanning made the letter something much more intimate than a instantaneous electronic message sent across cyberspace. It was almost like a little piece of him was being posted to me across the miles.

It also makes me think about the little notes my mother wrote on my lunch napkins. Whether it was a simple heart or smiley face, it really helped make my day. I knew she loved me. She told me everyday. But seeing it in writing made it even more real.

That is why the other day I bought myself a nice pen, with proper ink and wonderful creamy, writing, paper. I want to write letters. I know that I will still email and talk to my friends and loved ones, probably almost daily, but with writing a letter I will be sending them a bit of me (not in the van Gogh sense). I will be putting aside time to send them a part of myself.

And even though I don’t get long letters from my husband anymore it’s nice to find his little hand written notes and drawings that he does for me here and there around the house.