OF TINY HEIGHTS


Dear Love,
I always really appreciated handwritten letters. Maybe you think they're sappy or highschool, like notes scrawled on loose-leaf notebook paper stuffed in lockers, riddled with bubble letters and rounded hearts. Me? I like 'em. There's a certain warm familiarity to it, Like knowing just how much chocolate he wants on his icecream you know?

Dear Love,
Maybe I'm just old fashioned. Maybe I felt like saying "I love you" without the mechanical click of the keyboard. Maybe I felt like saying it without the blinking, vertical input cursor prompting me, as if I was expected to say something after. Maybe not.

Dear Love,
With my orange gloves and red pen, And my flushed face, I suppose from a distance it must look like I have a fire in my hands, Which I can't seem to look up from.

Dear Love,
Sometimes people ask me to take off my heels, so I sink down to a tiny height. They tease and I smile. It's a big jump. But all I ever think about then is standing in front of you, barefoot, and hoping you'd tease me too.

Dear Love, Please write.




the love letter collection