Dearly
A text is read in a second and forgotten in two. A letter is kept in a drawer for forty years.
Handwriting is slow on purpose. It forces you to mean it. The person on the other end can feel the difference — the pause before a word, the weight of the ink, the fact that you sat down for them.
Emails get archived. DMs get buried. A letter sits on a bedside table. It gets read twice. It gets read aloud. It outlives the phone it would have been sent from.
We write letters at the moments that matter most — births, deaths, apologies, thank-yous, love — because nothing else carries the weight. The medium is part of the message.
You don't need an occasion. Someone you love is alive right now. That is reason enough.
i.
Pick the person.
Not the idea of them — the person.
ii.
Pick the reason.
What is this letter for, really?
iii.
Take it offline.
Close the app. Find a pen.