She used to get letters, when she was young.
Beautiful letters, flowing with poetic prose that made her heart flutter.
Dirty letters, smudged with ink and sweat, and cherished all the more for the moment its writer was able to take in order to send her his thoughts.
Crisp letters on monogrammed paper, informing her of a child's acceptance into a prestigious academy.
Letters from friends, family, and those fond strangers with whom she exchanged recipes and book recommendations.
But no one sent letters anymore.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd received a letter.
It made her long for those wonderful days long gone, so she went to the closet and pulled out a box.
The box of all her letters, her treasured collection.
She sat on the couch, and opened the box.
It didn't matter which one she picked, for they were all wonderful.
So she sat there, going through letters yellowed by time, and lost herself in the memories.
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