His look while he chokes me, hard with both hands, the darkness in his eyes as my vision gets foggy. He looks almost evil, and so so sexy. “Please keep going,” I whisper. Usually he stops because he’s scared or something. “Please keep going.” I repeat maybe four times. And he does, till my eyes roll backwards. I love it, and I love him.
“Because sending a letter is the next best thing to showing up personally at someone’s door. Ink from your pen touches the stationary, your fingers touch the paper, your saliva seals the envelope, your scent graces the paper. Something tangible from your world travels through machines and hands, and deposits itself in another’s mailbox; their world. Your letter is then carried inside as an invited guest. The paper that was sitting on your desk, now sits on another’s. The recipient handles the paper that you handled. Letters create a connection that modern and impersonal forms of communication will never replace.”