Letters.

Re-reading Anais Nin.

Between the pages I found a three-year-old postcard from Trish when she was taking her post-grad studies in Australia.

I realized I missed writing letters.

We used to write to each other in high school to somehow splash more color to our long summer days.

Actual pieces of paper.

Actual stamps.

Actual waiting.

Actual gasp when the postman rings the bell.:)