The red dirt on the roads and the shoes and the buses and the people here has colonized my nasal passages, making nose-blowing a mild adventure like playing a slot machine. Those of you who have been camping can understand me.
This essay's title is misleading because it's really about love letters. The booger thing was on my mind because I was surprised it took me a week here to notice it. Also because my ringtone here is a Kool and the Gang song containing the phrase "baddest little boogie in the land." But what's on my mind more often and deeper down is, dammit, love.
I'm in favor of love. My experience so far has been positive. Being in love is what I'm talking about, specifically. There are two guys doing research here with me who are in love with girls in other places (one in Italy, one in USA) and they're adorable. They chat with their girlfriends and say stupid things to them over the phone even when other people are within earshot. They think they have great epic stories about How We Met. They are people in love.
They are people in love with girls far away, and you can and should call me a romantic, but that slays me. LOVE LETTERS, man; those are the most important documents in history, right? They have to be. John and Abigail. Robert and Elizabeth. Solomon's Song. This is the marrow in humanity's bones, what animates and sanctifies civilization's otherwise mechanical advance. Maybe love letters have little place in today's world, but still I laud those who have the courage and foolishness to feel those love lettery feelings for someone by putting themselves in a position to pine. It's obnoxious and juvenile and lovely. Long Live Love Letters, even if their noble bloodline has been diluted down to, well, Skype.
I'll write love letters. To a girl I'll be in love with and then I'll marry said girl and write more love letters to her. More and better.
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