Letters

17th June 2026

Thinking now, re-discovering this book again from 2017, @willdarbyshire
I ask myself why I fell in love with letters.

I think this is why.
I love that you can be bold, expressive, or write only three sentences.
“I hate you.”
Cough, cough, cough … don’t be so dark.
“I love you.”
Or maybe:
“Hey, I like you.”
Or:
“Hey, wanna be friends?”

You can write a joke. You can tell someone a secret. You can confess something you’ve never said out loud. You can fill pages and pages, or leave half the paper blank. Somehow both say something.

A letter can travel anywhere. Across cities, across oceans, across years. Sometimes it arrives exactly when it’s needed. Sometimes it arrives long after the moment has passed, carrying a version of someone that no longer exists except on paper.

Like Will said, letters hold those in love, out of love, and everything in between.
Maybe that’s why I love them.

Letters make ordinary thoughts feel important. They turn passing feelings into something you can hold in your hands. A text disappears into a screen. A letter sits in a drawer for ten years waiting to surprise you.
And maybe what I love most is that letters don’t rush. They ask you to sit with your thoughts for a while. To choose your words. To leave a little piece of yourself behind.

I’m writing this sitting on my floor surrounded by books, a scarf, bubble wrap, a belt, a bell-shaped thing that hangs on the wall, a blue beret, and one fancy Halloween dress.
Apparently these are my special belongings.
My suitcase exploded across the room and somehow each item feels like a tiny chapter of my life. The books are old conversations & the beret remembers a version of me who thought she looked effortlessly French LOL.
And here I am, in the middle of all this clutter, thinking about letters.
Maybe letters are just another kind of special belonging.
They don’t take up much space, but somehow they carry entire people inside them.

Chat soon,

Ada