when I was sixteen I had a friend who lived four hours away who wrote me letters every other day who I wrote to in turn with equal eager mischief day in and day out. her letters made me want to go to school each day so that I had something to do while I waited for the mail to come.
the packets she sent were stunning. they were promising missives from a country where people thought layered thoughts in well-mixed hues. where things looked good. where people drank strong sweet coffee.
when I went to college we lost touch. she appeared in plenty of good dreams and wishes and I tried many times fruitlessly to find her again.
and then tonight she just found me. (yay.)