My dear boyfriend slipped a note into my carry-on before I left the house yesterday. I discovered it on the plane headed toward Minneapolis. I used the note as a bookmark for my book, but the truth is I read and re-read the note more than I read the book.
I am not sure what it is about the written word that makes it seem more powerful to me than the spoken word. Could it be the permanence of it? Or perhaps it has to do with the commitment involved in putting something in writing? Or perhaps it seems more true when it is written?
It wasn’t that the words written were expressing completely new thoughts and feelings between Mike and me. It wasn’t that the words written were intended to be any more meaningful than spoken words. Yet, that note – the effort put into penning that note – well, it just slayed me.
I surmise the fact that I will be apart from Mike for a few days is part and parcel of the effect the note had on me. I wonder if the note will still carry the same power months or even years from now? I wonder if the power of the written word will intensify or diminish over time? I suspect that the enduring potency of those written words will correlate with the enduring potency of my feelings for the man who wrote them. Well, if I was a betting woman (which I just happen to be) I’d place a good-sized bet that the note will still slay me 25 years from now – as may the man who scribed the words.
Day eight hundred and twelve of the new forty – obla di obla da