The world, my dear lady and sir , is far too fast for me. No one has the patience to reply to rambling letters, or (who am i kidding) to even read them*.
as i have said previously, letters people wrote to their future self are pretty boring, they often reek of impatience; except when they don't - for then they are like amber to store perfectly an emotion felt, a lesson learnt, and they are beautiful.
the letters jrr wrote to others are much more interesting, the thought put in each of them is a thought thought by a kind and genius story teller. and i like story tellers best of all. for what is life if not a story, the point of the ups and downs is simply one, the story otherwise would be very boring. (to sit snug, with more of my kind, around a benevolent being, listening to a story!)
but we are talking about letter now, not stories, so here is a beautiful one that John Steinbeck wrote to his teen-aged son, Thom.
Please feel free to write to me with similar kindness.
Yours with love,
N
*not the most honest statement, but how is one to start a letter if not with a hyperbole to a perception?
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