photography by klaire lee
Over the past few months, almost a half-year really, a fellow classmate and I have been maintaining a correspondence almost-entirely by email. He doesn’t live far away from the campus, and we sometimes meetup for lunch or other activities yet these conversations always pales a little in comparison to our virtual letters.
In essence a letter is written and read in retirement from the social scene; this is certainly true of… major epistolary clarification. (Tanner)
It’s a somewhat unusual occurrence, abandoning the instant message chats (he also doesn’t own a cellphone) & other social media modes of communication. If it weren’t for those similar flashes of insight from our meshed personalities, during our offline interactions, I would not know how to weigh this friendship.
photography by Cinnamon
‘Introspection is retrospection’ said Sartre, and so is letter-writing.
These little daily rituals often allow us a far-longer space of time to formulate answers to questions, or decipher the coded style of the other writer, (was this written in a happy mood? contemplative?) though not immediate in reply their content is always sufficient to the previous letter. 
photography by lesretrouvailles
The letter enables (a way) to formulate things and convey information in a way which would not be possible on a social occasion where public modes of utterance necessarily restricts the more private ones.
A recent gift lately in the shapes of teabags was answered by a simple ‘thank-you’ in verbal form, in contrast to correspondence reply with the phrases “much appreciated,” and enthusiastic responses; hidden perhaps, by our inherent shyness in strange, similar-youth public spaces and lamp-lit rooms.
photography by mezzoblue
A letter is also… a transforming of actions into words which may be then… reflected on in a way which is impossible while one is actually (involved) in the action.
Truthfully, social interactions are much more readable in terms of body langauge, social cues and discerning facial expressions (emotive responses). This is what I miss I think, the physical interface. Instead, my memory of himself is being replaced little by little with the scrolling typeface on a white screen.
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