The Letter

She kept endlessly turning around and trying to fall asleep, there was nothing that would  keep her from looking at her alarm clock, because no matter how often she looked at the alarm clock, the time seemed to change with brainnumbing slowness. Not looking at it was obviously the answer.  She sat up in bed, shook her pillow around a bit and sank back down on to the cool side of the bed, determined not to look at the time. Four minutes to three winked the luminous numbers on the clock....but no sleep was coming to her resque. She sat up again, feverish and furious. She had to stop the boredom, as it was positively sickening. It was no use trying to sleep, she might as well get some hot milk and find something that would get rid of the endless insomnia.  Trying to think how shattered she'd be after a sleepless night, she warmed some milk and brought it up to bed. Propped up with pillows...suddenly the ideas were flooding her with delight. She knew what she needed to do, as she got up and went through her drawers. She rememberd seeing some old envelopes, somewhere there...if she could  just find them now, and that nice paper she kept as  highly valued antique piece. Oh, and then there was this old fountain pen, she kept as a treasure. Would she know what to do. Would she remember how to start a letter, what to say, was her handwritting still readable.Her mind was busy with such toughts while searching through her drawers, then in amazement she found the old pack of envelopes, and just below were some sheets of paper, she rememberd taking them from a Hotel, many years back. Somehow at the same instant the fountain pen emerged and she lifted it, holding it in her hand as a religious relic . So powerful was this treasure search and the idea of writting a letter, that her hands trembled while switching the light on her desk and carefully placing her relics. For a moment she just stood and watched the envelopes , the paper and her old fountain pen, as they glowed in the light. She sat on her chair and placed her elbow on the table, while slightly playing with a lock of her hair, swirling it and tieing knots, then letting them loose. She took her founain pen and wondered for a moment did it dry out, would she be able to use it? Slowly getting the cap off she took a note pad and drew a line, then wrote a couple of numbers...then her name. She couldn't hide her smile or the thrilling flood of emotions that invaded her body, while staring at the black ink on her note pad. She took a sheet of paper, and wondered for a moment what would she write, then just placed her left hand on top of it, and drew a continuing line around her hand. The amazement of what she looked at was, that she actually touched the paper, she actually drew her hand, she thought for a slight moment...this was real, this was a part of her...no typing , no screen, no icons...funny, she felt like going back to the last century, she was fascinated by the long lost beauty of letters, remembering some contained a drop of perfume, some a tear, a dried flower, a lock of hair, a fading photo...and endless words that would travel a long way to that someone dear, someone special. She feverishly started writting, as the words took their own flow on the paper as a wild stream ending in a waterfall...sheet by sheet, for the first time after so many years, she felt she was opening herself, she was being real, she was sharing and opening her soul. The last words, and the first  written  'I love you' in her own handwritting, left her with a cunfusing sensation...she ran and fetched her purse with make up, searching for the right colour of lipstic...she put a couple of shades on her lips...then carefully kissed the paper, leaving a perfect copy of the curves of her lips. Folding the sheets with utmost sensation, she placed them in the envelope, licked the edges carefully and closed it. The night was long gone as the first rays of sun came through her window, she dressed up and ran to the post office. She paused before she handed the letter, she held it with her both hands, covering it and tuching it before it would take its long journey, placed it on her chest, as if she couldn't part with it, then just slowly left it on the counter, payed for the stamps and kept looking at the lady who took her precious letter, stamped it a couple of times, every sound of the stamping shook her body, as she watched carefully what her letter was going through, then saw it thrown in one of the wooded pigeon holes....she turned around and walked out into the sunny street.