Contemplating the single sheet of stationery, she frets. It seems so insubstantial, so fragile, yet she has entrusted with it the full capacity of her heart. And she wonders, should she add another row of hearts? X’s and O’s?
She adds two more rows of each, having to reduce the size of her handwriting in order to squeeze these new notations onto a page that is already so weighty with words she fears it may be too much for its matching envelope to bear.
Will it be enough, she worries? The intensity of affection she has tried to convey? The over-stated assurances of her hope for their future? Will these be adequate in bridging the gaps of time and distance that separate him from her?
She agonizes. About outside forces beyond her control that threaten to sabotage her mission. Lost mail. Acts of God. The ferocity of the fighting where he is.
She’s signed her name, with love. Tries to imagine the moment his eyes fall upon this letter-and she finds herself wishing once again that being with him was as easily accomplished as writing down words.
Still, for now, she would be the first to admit that she is happily, hopelessly held captive.
Of blue paper.
Sometimes glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove.
– Terry Pratchett