I am old enough to remember when writing letters was a routine form of communication. In the days before email, Facebook, Twitter, etc. we put pen to paper and wrote our friends and families. Then we stuck the letters in our mailboxes to be picked up and delivered across town, across state, or across country. Then we waited for them to be read and replied to. All that waiting was normal and unavoidable. Now it's practically unimaginable.
And yet, some of us still chose this form of communication. Because it is also beautiful to see cursive scroll across the page, knowing that someone sat down, taking time in their busy life to dedicate their full attention to you, to tell you about their day and to ask about yours. What a delight it still is to open the mailbox and see your friend's handwriting on the front of an envelope, tucked between bills and junk mail. Sometimes weeks stretch into more than a month, but finally a new letter arrives. It is a moment to relish.