Hand-written letters

And sometimes…
Cold grey afternoons spent in solitude
Reading a handwritten letter from an old friend
Narrating what life has done to them in the years gone by
Heartbreaks and joblessness, and the journey to self-discovery
The end of old friendships with people we both used to know
The beginning of new ones found in unexpected places
Memories of our summer days long ago
Spent lying on the grass in the park, staring at the blue sky
Counting clouds one by one as they came back to us as rain
Long conversations wondering who thinks about us
Who dreams of us, what do they dream of?
I get to the end of the long letter and think…
Perhaps this is the point of our existence
To bear witness to each others’ lives
To hold dear, and to remember.