Some time in the not-too-distant past, there was this little skill and past-time called letter writing. Words were not a string of zeroes and ones, but were ink on paper, and arrived in envelopes with postmarks. Sometimes, it takes weeks to reach you, which is unthinkable of now. But the joy of it, when you see the letter in the mailbox (a real physical box of metal nailed to a wall)
I had a pen-pal from a neighbouring country. We exchanged letters and first day covers regularly. And then, like all good things, it came to an end. The letters became less and less, a trickle, and finally ceased. I guessed we each had our own needs and priorities to attend to. But it was a great experience while it lasted.
pencil sketch by dsnake1
but it was not to be
i could have taken
to meet you.
we could even have
have a coffee
but we just write
and took over our
and the letters
it was not to be.
to bernadette, wherever you may be.
"Thus having spoke she turned away and though I found no words to say
I stood and watched until I saw her black cloak disappear."
-- Uriah Heep, Lady in Black
Shared on Poetry Pantry #313 at Poets United.
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016
Labels: 60's, 70's, Friendship, lovesongs, old flame, Poetry, Singapore, writing