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Compartment 114
Compartment 114
letters

letters

A Story by Ariana Papastergiou
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Well, hi. This is not a poem and doesn't really belong to any particular collection. It is actually an extract from my notebook ( yes, I keep one, how old-fashioned). It's a simple thought.

"
-Letters-
It's an ever ending torture to realize time after time that, as the world moves forward, my mind insists on going back in time, searching for inexperienced things. Things that seem so trivial today and... surely belong in the past. Things that people before me indulged in and accepted as simple truth. Why purchase a vinyl? You can download it from the internet. Why search for the perfect piece of furniture? You can go to IKEA. Why prepare so much for a simple picture? It's not like you cannot capture the same face a million times. It all makes perfect sense really. Sense, indeed, it all makes, yet is it even the same? I find myself thinking, in the most peculiar hours of the day, what it would be like to write a letter to a friend, instead of typing it away on Messenger. And what it would be like to not have auto correct. To have to figure it all out by myself. To have to make my handwriting clear enough, to organize my trail of thought, so that the receiver can understand what the f**k I am talking about. Stamp the letter, address it, put my massive signature on it and then wait. Wait for the letter to reach them by post and then wait yet again for their reply. And when I receive it, oh, wont I feel unique? Like, it's got my name on it, it's addressed only to me. Wouldn't I feel like I have someone's undivided attention, whether that's my brother, my mother, my friend, my husband, my lover... I find myself wanting to write letters. Letters with stamps and seals and my lovely handwriting. But who would want to read a letter these days, let alone reply to one. I would. But don't mind me. I am romantic and horny and tend to romanticize the past ignoring the knock of the future on my door. 

© 2017 Ariana Papastergiou


Author's Note

Ariana Papastergiou
In the description I said that this is an extract from my notebook. But when I moved on to picking a genre I did not want to choose Journal, again, so I picked Monologue. And now that I think of it, it is actually a monologue with (to? I am not sure) myself. In my notebook, I often choose to speak to myself to be honest or to someone in the second person. Oh, dear, I hope I don't sound crazy. Also, since this is a piece from my personal journal I wanted to pick a font that somewhat matched my handwriting. I don't know. I thought it a nice touch. Lastly, the picture, attached to the text is the one I drew inspiration from. It's from Flickr, but I discovered it on Pinterest. All rights and credits are reserved to the artist/photographer of course. I sincerely hope you enjoy.

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Added on December 23, 2017
Last Updated on December 23, 2017

Author

Ariana Papastergiou
Ariana Papastergiou

Athens, Greece



About
Name's Ariana / 18 years alive, bothering everyone / dances in public areas if the music is good / writes stuff that probably no one understands / draws sketches to calm down / adores Shakespeare and .. more..

Writing