Old love letters
from primary school
emerge from the dusty box which has lived happily under the bed for the last 12 years. The letters, like the box, are dusty and have faded as the texta
drawings and pencil lines
I was loved once, too
Here is a small (5cm x 5cm) book, held together with a single staple. Its inscription (To Melanie, love Steven), takes up the first two pages.
The pictures are childish, 2 dimensional, the text large and barely decipherable. For some strange reason the text and pictures all pertain to the pyramids of Egypt. Yellow triangles and the word 'egipt' dot across the tiny pages.
I am ashamed to say that when handed this treasure, I threw it to the ground and stomped on it (if I remember correctly, Steven was known as the stupid smelly kid. I was embarrassed to be loved by such a boy).
A short note, with red writing. Given to me on the afternoon school bus by a younger boy (I was only ten at the time, so he must have been all of at least seven or eight).
"Roses are red,
violets are blue.
God is a sweatie
and so are you.
Well, god is a sweatie indeed. And so, apparently, was I. An early indication of the dangers of deodorant ignorance? Tell-tale dark semi-circles on my shirts under the armpits?
It's best not to think about old love letters. They'll trip you up when you're not really thinking about anything, make you feel bad about what you should have said, done or written back, instead of laughing uproariously and pointing out which boy was in love with you.
But I guess that's all part of the fun of growing up.