Wednesday, June 18, 2008

My Baby Wrote Me A Letter

It is possible to write a passionate or intemperate email, and I have certainly sent and received them. But I haven't gotten a real love letter, handwritten on paper and in an envelope with a stamp, for a long time.

Years ago, I was involved with a man who wouldn't make a commitment at a time when I thought that was important. I left him for someone who would. Man #1 then wrote to me almost daily, beautifully, soulfully. I hadn't known he had those skills, and he was quite convincing, so I went back to him.

It didn't take. I moved across the country and married another. After that ended, Man #1 and I had a weekend fling. He took it more seriously than I did. Passionate emails from him ensued. I wasn't ready.

But imagine if he'd sent a missive like this, written to Mrs. Patrick Campbell (she of the witty "so long as they don’t do it in the streets and frighten the horses" comment) by George Bernard Shaw:
"I want my dark lady. I want my angel. I want my tempter. I want the lighter of my seven lamps of beauty, honour, laughter, music, love, life and immortality. I want my inspiration, my folly, my happiness, my divinity, my madness, my selfishness, my final sanity and sanctification, my transfiguration, my purification, my light across the sea, my palm across the desert, my garden of lovely flowers, my million nameless joys, my day's wage, my night's dream, my darling and my star."
How different my life might have been!

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