When I was at university, I created a blog called “Letters To You”. I wrote letters to people in my life, that I didn’t necessarily want them to read, but I wanted to get out on paper.
I’ve written a diary a year since I was 17 years old.
In relationships, I write. I hand my boyfriends letters over the table, or swiftly sneak them into their bags/pockets for them to read later. Post-it notes. Long three page letters. Sometimes I find my letters, letters I never sent. And sometimes I lose letters, letters I never sent.
Writing gives me time to think, time to convey my thoughts in a way that makes sense. Sometimes my mouth moves too fast for my head, or maybe too slow and everything comes out making no sense. Inarticulate. Vague. Unsure. In my mind, it’s sure, but the words I’m speaking?
I like writing.
I think I’ll always be a letter writer, for as long as I live.
And hopefully a writer.