Where have the letters gone?
The letters that are written from the heart to the heart. The ones that are written with ink.. with trembling hands and tears soaking the papers. Or those written with impatiently joyful souls and wide-smiling lips. Ones whose papers are scented with the lavender scent of a lover or the french vanilla of a sister or even the dust’s smell of a soldier’s clothes after-war..
Where are those letters that take time to reach from the sender to the receiver.. that go on a journey with the beautiful postman until he places them in the decorated box in the corner of the house garden. And a proud dad would wake up early in the morning, take the pathway all the way out of the house to grab them. Make a cup of his favorite coffee and sit in the terrace ready to read them. Or an impatiently worried wife spending the night beside her window in hopes of catching the letter right away from the postman.. Where are those letters, for which our hearts take the time to soak in the bubble of emotions they drench us with.. and also grant our hearts the time to wait and wait for the letter coming after. Or the time it takes to admire the envelope, unseal it, take out the papers and unfold them, inhale their scents and close the eyes to heart-fully wish, and then read the carved alphabets and caress the signature at the end..
Where have the flowers gone?
Not the kind of flowers that people now “get, give, and throw away”. Where is the beautiful red Tulip in the hands of the man in the navy blue tuxedo, waiting downstairs by the door. Or the radiant, charming yellow Gerbera Daisies flower that marks new beginnings. Or the extravagant pink Carnation pressed in between the pages of a favorite book..
Where are the flowers that smell like broken hearts.. the white Roses placed with tears on a grave. Or the old lady watering her Pansy & Petunias in her balcony.. or her edible Lilacs and purple Rosemary flowers.. I’ve never really liked picking up flowers and presenting them. Rather, it’s the idea of living flowers that I’ve always fancied; I hope one day I see the man in the tuxedo, holding a hand-size pot full of dirt in which my favorite type of flowers lives so that I’d get to care and water them to blossom..
Where are the good old things?
Some say they are forever gone, some say not.
I hope those things find their way back someday,
because I miss them a lot.
Roaa A. Nassar
Jul 27, 2015