Today I got a postcard from one of my closet friends who now lives in Europe. She spent the past year working in Berlin, and soon will be moving to England to attend graduate school. The past year then, has been a big difference from living in the same house, gossiping on the same couch, and eating at the same kitchen table.
Kitschy snapshots of cheesy tourist locales please me more than I should maybe admit. And, of course, the best part is the handwritten message on the back. And the stamp hailing from the country of the postcard's origin.
I love postcards so much that when I was a
I love postcards because they only carry good news. The weather's great. Wish you were here. Miss you. Loving life. The food is fantastic. See you soon. Love you. My favorite part was the donkey ride.
You can't break up with someone through a postcard. Or tell someone you've just been given three weeks to live. You can't bill someone for your services. Or let them know that you will kindly be turning off their electricity if they don't give you money by Monday at 4 p.m.
In a postcard, the world really is all sunshine and lollipops. And giant ferris wheels and national monuments and waterfalls and windmills and bridges and blue skies and snowy mountains and historic cabins and pristine beaches and Eiffel Towers.
They are love from far away. Love you too, my little German schnitzel. Tweet