the last of its kind

Dearest Dorothy,

My love;

Already I feel your absence darkening my mood, as if the task at hand is not heartbreaking enough. And yet I must follow through.

I remember most vividly the first time I wrote to you. It had been a pleasant evening, and random aspects of earthly beauty were causing my memories of you to rise to the surface. With a glorious rush of affection, I had put pen to paper and scrawled my heart out. That may have been my most inspired moment in recent years. It was certainly the beginning of a revolution in writing, and even though I was brought up not to, I am compelled to brag. My letters to you were exceptional.

Similarly, I recall the very last time I sat down to write to you. I remember the anticipation, the desire and raw affection that characterized that letter. Perhaps the thrill of the prospect blinded me from seeing the truth at the time. And even if I could have, I would not have tarnished the letter with my musings. As with its predecessors, I wanted it to be nothing short of a testimony to my undying love. If only I had known.

This brings me to today. To this day and time. A time when the art that was letter writing has been totally abandoned, and less grueling displays of eloquence taken up. A time when structure and grammar count for nothing whatsoever, and what used to be unforgivable errors now pass as acceptable shortcuts. Suddenly, no one has time to type the whole word, let alone make a coherent statement. Anyone who even bothers with the workings of post is clearly clinging to an age that is rapidly receding into the annals of time. Do stamps even exist anymore?

Forgive me, my love. I must not let my distaste speak on my behalf. What I mean to say is this: I weep for a lost art. And it is for this reason that I decided to write you one last letter; the last of its kind.

Know this. I will forever hold you dear, especially when you are light-years away. That will never change. However, I refuse to be a part of this insanity that is being branded `technological advancement’. I refuse to join the senseless hordes that have replaced life with a rigid adherence to social sites with equally senseless names, and if this means that I don’t communicate at all with you, then I apologize in advance. Every decision demands its sacrifice, and my only regret is that you may never forgive me for it.

So I guess this is goodbye, at least for now. I hope that three years from now, when you complete your studies, you will find reason to seek me out, because I will wait forever if I have to. Until then, my heart breaks with each passing second.

Eternally yours;

Moi.

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