I have a bag full of his letters...

I have a bag full of his letters; we used to write to one another every single day of the school term. Today you are writing one, tomorrow you are receiving one. I always looked forward to the letters. Words were our thing and we used them well, our favourite board game was scrabble. During the school holidays, this is in the early 2000s and we both didn’t have cellphones let alone smartphones, we would write each other books, a whole 32 pages of words detailing our days activities, emotions, plans and aspirations. 

We didn’t refer to these raw and fearless compilations of words as letters though, we called them convettas. We would write as though we were conversing with one another and so they were a cross between letters and conversations = convettas.

Years after we had left high school and broken up we met and reminisced about our childhood love. We laughed at how at that time it seemed as though we would be together forever. Oblivious to the fact that our lives had separate courses to run. We spoke candidly about how we had broken up and he apologised for his faux pas which embarrassingly 6 years later I hadn’t forgiven him for (you can read about it here). I think his apology meant more to me than he knew. 

 We spoke about the convettas and how they were probably the most special element of the relationship. At the end of the meeting, which ended in laughing, dancing and jumping over a gate we agreed that we would meet again to exchange letters so that each party would possess that which they wrote. Sadly this meeting was never to be…

I look at the bag full of his letters and wonder what I will do with them. I feel it would be a dishonour to the memory of his life if I destroyed them but then again what good will it do to keep them? I also think about the bag full of my letters that he held in his possession, I wonder where they are and if I’ll ever get them back…

This is dedicated to a man who taught me a lot about love, hurt and the joy of forgiveness

Rest in peace