Love Letters, Saoirse Killion ’21

Saoirse Killion ’21

Love Letters

You know how, before we were born, love letters were the most wonderful things? They were the sweetest mementoes, every word selfishly claiming a heartstring, tattooing itself in cursive lettering and springtime roses on skin. Ink colors wrinkled sketchbook pages, and hopelessly stained writer’s fingertips.

The words that leave lips are fleeting; they are hopelessly lost to the past. They can’t feel the world’s strange contours, or taste a sweet summer breeze; they can’t see the autumn sunset, or watch the fading crimson of leaves.

Written word never leaves the tongue, yet never ceases to exist. No longer might they be relevant, but script written in a once familiar hand is beautiful. Can people write love letters again? Memories of warmth, however tinged with sorrow, are comforting in a way. They exist in a strange equilibrium: forever decaying, forever fresh.

If only ink made them forever true.