UGG Boots and a Long Lost Love

At a used book sale, you purchase a leather-bound volume. At home, you thumb through the pages and an old letter tumbles out.

You realize at once you are holding history in your hands. The red wax marker sealing the envelope is from a time when great words were shared through the post. There was no such thing as an instant message from a friend. Thoughts and professions of love traveled long distances and awaited response with heavy hearts and wistful glances.

Your fingers tremble as you delicately place your letter opener under the fold of the envelope. How old is this letter, and to whom was it written? Your imagination is already breathless with wonder and spirited suggestions.

You are able to extricate a worn slip of paper, the likes of which you have never seen. Parchment of a bygone era made for timeless thoughts and lofty ideals.

Your eyes mist instantly as you see the grand loops and long swirls of immaculate handwriting, from a time when words looked on paper as beautifully as they sounded to the heart of a lover.

You look away. You have to put the paper down, collect yourself. This is bigger than you thought. The first words you saw were, My Dearest Beloved, and your heart stood still to think somehow you are reading these words. What happened that the letter is here in your hands and not in the Beloved’s treasure chest?

You steal another look at the missive you hold, and find the following:

You alone I love. You always. And yet, Fate is cruel. My fortunes have been promised to another, though my heart; rest assured will be with you forever.

There is no more. Your eyes close on a long exhale as you realize the heaviness of the heart behind this note, which could not ever send it. Fingers mused over the words, it is clear. The words love and always are but smudges on the page from long caresses.

The Beloved never knew; you wrench your heart to imagine.

The pounding in your chest has a rhythm all its own, and speaks the name of your own long loved. Fate has been cruel to you as well, although your fortunes were not promised to another, only begged and borrowed. You sought your fortunes at his expense; the one who stayed behind.

It isn’t fair, you think, to be scolded by a phantom of yesteryear, by a woman who loved and lost. Her love was pried from her, it seems, and yours just grows cold from lack of attention.

You pen your own letter; addressed to your boss.

You put on your traveling boots and board a plane for home at dusk.