‘You know when you love someone when you want them to be happy event if their happiness means that you’re not part of it.’
I received love letters from him every week. Yes, he never emails me , he often does that. But what thrills me is the snail mail I receive from him every week. I run barefoot and eyes sparkling, like a child to the mailbox, giddy with anticipation of yet another surprise. His letters, more often than blue, come in a long, pink envelope. His handwriting fascinates me. The strokes of his red pen artfully claim their spaces on the pink stationery.
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