The Postman is Never Late

Love letters are serious business.  I wrote my share of them before marrying Steve.  Not just to Steve, but to other young men as well.  I am no poet, but it was easy to dramatically interpret the angst of my younger self when kept from someone I used to have feelings for.  The letters I wrote to Steve are bound with beautiful silk ribbons and stashed with those he wrote back and now stored in my hope chest in the storage attic.  After I married, I discarded all of the others I received in an attempt to pretend that Steve was my one and only.  It’s funny to think that there is really only one right person for each of us.  After all, I love both of my children; why wouldn’t my heart be open to another person if I didn’t have Steve?

Our upcoming card party for Valentine’s day was set for Sarah’s.  Sarah is my quietest but deepest thinker friend.  It would be interesting for us to discuss the topic of one true love.  The funny part would be listening to Edie’s take on the subject.  Edie is our resident romance specialist but I am the only one who knows it.  We hadn’t talked about her writing for some time.  I think it’s time to check in with her and see if she is ready to tell all the girls about her secret society.  I’m completely proud of her being a published author, I would be telling everyone if I published anything.  I think I’ll give Edie a call.

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