To the love letters that could have been written,
the boys who would have quoted Shakespeare,
the girls who obsessed over them and stored them in perfume.
I would have been queen,
there would be no awkward phone conversations.
No. I would have written,
and it would have brought him to his knees.
To the age that I was denied,
before emojis and memes.
To the verses that were replaced with lols.
I wish I had sent a postcard.
I wish I had the chance to agonize over my drafts,
to sift through every adjective and adverb,
trying and failing to find the right one.
I want to have scoffed at the blatant list,
the pathetic declarations of heartache and longing.
the ability to create.
To dedicate yourself to a page.
To declare your love on paper.
When pen touched paper,
when correspondence wasn’t symbolic.
When emotions came to life in ink.