When was the last time you wrote something substantive — a letter, a story, a journal entry, etc. — by hand? Could you ever imagine returning to a pre-keyboard era?
Abby sat at her pretty white desk. She had laid out half-a-dozen pens, arranging them in a perfect row like soldiers standing at attention for inspection. She had her favorite pink stationery in front of her, and she was ready to write.
She just didn’t know how to say what she needed to say.
Her laptop sat closed on its own special stand. Should she just type it? Wouldn’t that be faster? Then she could send it via email and it would be done.
But when you have to send this kind of letter, it needed to be personal. It needed to show respect, and kindness, and a memory of pleasant times. That’s why she’d chosen this stationery. It wasn’t fancy, just plain paper in graduated shades of light pink. It felt airy, cool, and personal.
As she sat gazing out her window, Abby reflected on the last couple of years. There had been so many good time, both serious and fun. Outings and quiet evenings at home with her family or his. She knew he was very serious about her, and it broke her heart to have to tell him the truth. It was time, though. Way past time. She loved him, but not the way he wanted her to.
She had always been honest with him. She admired him for his character, his kindness, his love for his family. He knew she wasn’t in love with him at first, but he hoped that would change as they got to know each other better. Abby had tried. She really had. People kept telling her how lucky she was to have such a fine, upstanding young man courting her.
But there was no excitement in her heart at the prospect of seeing him. In fact, she had begun to dread spending time with him because she knew without a doubt that he wasn’t “The One.” He was a friend, but he wasn’t the one that made her pulse leap and her stomach flutter. Someone else did that, and it was time to do what needed to be done.
Sighing, Abby took a pen, wrote the date in her elegant hand, and then she wrote. . . . .