I have a stack of shoeboxes in my room that contain things to make me cry.

Cry, and smile, and reflect, and experience what seems like every feeling I may have ever felt. One is a box of letters––the second shoebox in the stack that sits next to my bookshelf. And no, this is not To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before where I have multiple love letters which I have never sent. Instead, my box is full of letters I have received. Some are love letters. Most are life updates, questions, movies I have to watch, books I have to read. These letters are some of my favorite things that I own. Before I started sending letters consistently, I didn’t know anyone else who did. But I think people just need to receive one to be inspired to write too. Letter writing is not a lost art, just a niche one.

Letters are the most personal way to communicate with someone. Maybe besides whispering in one’s ear, but I would argue even that is not as personal as a handwritten note. Physicality is not synonymous with intimacy. However, in an age of Helvetica and abbreviations, there is an undeniable intimate feel when reading someone’s handwriting. The little tails on their y’s and the inconsistent spacing and you know they wrote it for you. As soon as I see my name on the envelope, it feels personal, almost confidential, and I open it knowing that someone took the time to address a message just to me.

Writing letters is just as intimate as receiving them. It does not feel like I am simply writing a message to someone, it feels like I am writing with the knowledge they will read it. This unique concept to letter writing is born out of lack of forms of communication in which immediate receival is not guaranteed. A phone call ensures one will hear your message right away. A text is sent just as fast. But letters can take days, or even weeks to arrive to the recipient. I relish how my words have time in the in-between before they are read. Sealed from the rest of the world. I do not reread and worry about what I may have said; there is nothing I can do once it is sent. There is comfort in knowing someone will not read my words immediately, and neither can I. It is a journal entry I will share after a few days. Just like journaling, once I start writing a letter, my thoughts spill out and eventually I’m onto my fourth page of confessions and sketches.

Once you get into the habit of writing letters, it becomes something of a hobby. I say “something of” because I wouldn’t say phone calls are a hobby. So why would a more tedious form of communication be? It is an alternative hobby for people who don’t have a lot of time or money they can dedicate to tasks like watching films or painting. Letters do not need to be sat at for hours in order to be finished. They can be left alone and revisited, or sent half finished. Letters never have to be deemed complete. It is an alternative hobby for people who want to talk. Sometimes it is a hobby for those select people who are vulnerable enough to express their emotions. You really can write about anything. The more letters you write and people you write to, the more you will receive. And the more connections you have a chance to make.

Now, I will admit my pages and pages of words sent are not my deepest thoughts about the world. I do not write about all my existential crises or confessions of love.

Sometimes, my thoughts feel too incoherent to be sent. I know I said you can write about anything, but some of my messiest thoughts still have yet to be sent. I think it’s because I don’t write when I am in a bad mood. It feels like sending the person a chore, a burden to read. I journal when I am sad and write letters when I am happy. Each is a destined hobby. It is not that I am untruthful in my letters. Though, the closest I have gotten is expressing annoyance. Maybe I should write more letters when I am sad, but again, who wants to read a biased sob story about my life? What is someone supposed to respond when I say “I don’t feel good enough”?

But there is something so intriguing about day to day thoughts and realizations. Yes, please tell me what you ate for lunch on July 16th and why your favorite book is The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I love that stuff.

And then there are those letters that make me cry. They are from people I do not talk to much anymore. I miss the people and the moments I had with them. Sometimes, what they had to say was so genuine that I overdose on empathy and feel my heart give out. I keep these letters as capsules of those times in my life. It helps me to reflect and reassess those old relationships. Maybe this is why it didn’t work. It is almost more revealing than reading back on my own journal entries. That is just another reason why I like letters; they show firsthand the times when people loved you.

I don’t write to my original correspondent anymore. There are a lot of people I have stopped writing to, or have stopped writing to me. At first, it made me sad when people stopped writing back. But sometimes it is a physical sign of when a relationship is over. Writing takes time and effort, things which are a lot to ask from a person. You never know when someone’s letter could be their last.

Write letters and send them. Actually send them. When people are given the safe space of lined paper, when they do not actually see you but rather what you could read, they will want to fill it with the thoughts that may go unspoken.

Now, if you think I will throw out a letter you write me, think again. Because I can assure you, it will be in the second shoebox in the stack that sits next to my bookshelf. I will be reading it in a year. And I will remember what it was like to know you at that level. And it just might make me cry.