With love.

She picked her words carefully. The card was a slim rectangle – the kind with just a picture on the front and blank on the inside, and she wanted every single letter to count. With careful deliberate handwriting she laid down pretty quotes that reminded her of him, drew up doodles to fill up the little spaces left in between. These are my hopes, these are my dreams. She would send them all by hand to him if she could.

When there was no more white to write on she put down the date by the bottom right corner and signed it with a star, as always. Then, with a flourish, a misty spray of her favorite perfume. That evening after class she dropped by the post office.

She kissed the pink envelope and slid it softly into the mailbox.

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