Guilty pleasure confession: I've seen it about a million times now, but I love the first Sex and the City movie. [The second movie was horrible - a floppy storyline that was thrown together as what I hope will be a last ditch effort for another $300,000,000.]
Now go ahead. I know you want to.
Groan and roll your eyes and say, "Bethany, I thought you had better taste than to watch those heathens!" all you want, but I'm a sucker for a writerly heroine, any story line related to relationships and romance, and the fashion and glitz of a thriving metropolis like New York City. So, I watched the movie again last night, and googled "Love Letters of Great Men, Volume I." Turns out, it was a fake book that Carrie was reading at the beginning of the film, until a Mr. John C. Kirkland realized that women round the world were now dying to get there hands on such a book, and so he compiled it. Genius.
Amidst my googling I found this site, and couldn't resist sharing this note from the lovely Man in Black, Johnny Cash.
That's really nice June. You've got a way with words and a way with me as well.
The fire and excitement may be gone now that we don't go out there and sing them anymore, but the ring of fire still burns around you and I, keeping our love hotter than a pepper sprout.
The beauty of a handwritten note cannot be denied. There's just something about it that feels so raw and tangible in a way that digitized communication will never be able to emulate. I know that when I'm feeling stuck and disconnected to my writing self, the best thing I can do is close my laptop and grab a pen and my notebook.
So my plea to you, instead of my usual Friday post of lovelinks, is short and simple and sappy to the core.
Write a letter. To yourself, to your love, to your friend, to your future, to anyone that might need it. Be poetic and passionate enough to scrawl your thoughts, messy and unhindered.
Leave something to be found when you're gone.