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We don’t write love letters. Not like we used to. The way we understand to write them these days is just a sad attempt to replicate the fiery emotions that could barely fit onto the pages that once used to be hand delivered to the intended recipient of the words that did not by far do justice to the intensity of the feelings behind them. What is accepted as a declaration of love is nothing more than a random collection of cheesy comments, useless likes and annoying pet names thrown here and there with no reason or purpose.

We fear words, lest they turn into tangible proof that we actually felt something for someone at one moment in our lives. But what’s the point of saying I love you then, if you regret it two split seconds after the affair is over? We waver between oversharing with the public we find so willing to like a photo or a post and not sharing enough in the private intimacy of a real life dinner or walk in the park.

Love letters are not just filled with images of rainbows and unicorns, you know. They’re gut-wrenching at times, instinctual, yet tender in ways that today’s slew of clichés could never match. They don’t take 2 minutes to write and when you’re done writing them, they still seem unfinished in your eyes, but will read as flawless in the eyes of your lover.

I wonder how many proper love letters are written in the world today.

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