Today my sister got hold of a bag full of old letters and cards and postcards of all shapes and sizes and I spent the afternoon poring over them. Twenty two year old, young love. It was magic. I think I even saw a love letter in there but I didn’t realize it until after everything was put back and then when everybody left, I searched and searched for it but it was gone. So I settled for other magical words and I am allowed to keep some letters for the rest of this day, and then I have to put them back. 

And I learnt a lot of things. I learn that I was short and little, I learnt why my sister was given the name she was given and that there is and was a lot of love between the people I sit across the table from at family gatherings. Every time they pat my head or pull me in for a hug, an unwritten letter grows. And they had ink and paper and postal service in their time and they said a lot. And I have so much to say it through, but I don’t say enough. We found it very sad, my sister and I. And the 1990’s were a good, happy place to live in Zeb Manzil. There was a lot of magical love, I tell you. 

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