It’s around this time every year that I’ll break from the usual style and form to write something… Different. Usually around New Years, but this time it’s during and about Christmas. And cards. And, as always, writing.
I have a thing for letters- notes, messages, postcards, epistles, memos, what have you. It’s part of this firm belief that I am my best on paper. In words. Inked or digital. That I am allowed to be better, to be my best, and while perhaps not flawless, the written word enables me to be honest. So Christmas cards are something I hold near and dear to my heart. Writing them and receiving them. They’re some of the few things I feel I can take at face value, that they are the purest and most innocent and most sincere representation of a person or personality. I adore them. There are no games with Christmas cards.
I got a couple of cards this year, from family and friends. They sent shivers down my spine. The faith, the love, the belief that these words have fostered is simply sublime. It’s my understanding that this feeling is most definitely a common one, who doesn’t love to be appreciated? It’s more than appreciation, though- It’s appreciation in a medium that I want to live in, and through. In words. Words that cannot be erased or forgotten. You have to burn letters. You have to burn books.
Writing them is always what gets me, though. I always wish I could write a little bit smaller, that the card was a little bit longer, that my words were a little bit better. To express myself in Christmas cards is a guilty pleasure. It’s a rare time of year that enables me to feel true and properly understood, and to understand and empathize with everyone else. These cards, however brief and short, long and winding, are bridges. They mean the world to me.
I love Christmas cards.
Have a lovely holiday, thank you so much for your continued support,