I crave to experience that age where letter writing used to be the adorned gift for distant communication.One person would sit and contemplate for days what to write since the letter would take months to reach to the other side of the world, where the dear one dwelled.There would be a wealth of stories, incidents, and sentiments to write about- of wars, of explorations, of love, of betrayals, of dreams, of hopes.
With the letter being the sole means to converse from afar, the language would benefit from the writer’s feeling of separation and longing. Often inspiring profound sentences of adoration and intellect, with the anticipation that they will make the reader feel warm and comforted while being read.
And in the absence of emoticons, which make emotions get expressed in a generalized fashion, there, one would be absorbed with a dictionary or thesaurus to unearth the precise words to express the emotion elaborately.Some sentiments may even get transformed into beautiful verses with rhyming words.
And once the letter was dispatched, one would wait and imagine if the letter had reached, if the letter was received with as much yearning as with which it was written.And questions would flutter in the mind of the writer like a restless bird. Did the words carry the feelings well? Did it comfort? Brought the smile? Conveyed the warmth?
Several days will pass, and seasons change in hope and optimism of receiving a reply. The quill and the papers on table would be looked upon with a promise.And then on one fine day, a knock would be heard at the door, with the horseman standing outside, who, when you get out to meet will declare, “There’s a letter for you Sire!”
Dancing with Mosquitoes 