(no subject)
The intimacy of letters. Exchanging not useless glances, or inaudible facial expressions, but words. Simple..complex...beautiful..words. As in the letters from Rose Greenhow to Alexander Boteler. Why can interaction between friends or strangers not be as truthful and heartfelt as they were then? No email. No online journals (haha). But historical, hand written honesty. Wow, vintage romance. sigh, what a sucker I am for it.
someone write me a letter. please.
-samantha
"My mother groaned, my father wept;
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast. "
-William Blake
someone write me a letter. please.
-samantha
"My mother groaned, my father wept;
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast. "
-William Blake