incoherent scribbles

My friend and I started writing letters during lockdown #500 (February, it was February). She suggested it in her birthday card to me because she knows I love letters, and it would bring a jolt of excitement to the sameness we were living.

And the latest letter she sent me was perfect. A mix of all the things I associate with her and it made me feel like we were back in the house we shared; one of us perched on the sofa arm because we’d only come into the room for a minute and ended chatting for hours.

She ended the letter with these words ‘I thought better to send incoherent scribbles than silence’. It made my heart so happy, and it made me want to write a love letter to the world. (I promise I am not as idealistic in real life as I am in prose)

Incoherent scribbles mean the world to the people who love you....or at least they do to me.

I’d rather hear the processing of your life, the messy confused thoughts, the ones you haven’t fully rounded out yet. I’d rather have lines through the wrong word and corrections as you go, than nothing at all.

I love the imperfection of those incoherent scribbles and the beauty in getting to know you, and the way your brain makes decisions or sees the world.

If I’ve learnt anything from a life of many homes and interactions of people in them, I’ve learnt this. You know people the best from going through it all and seeing the mess and chaos in among the perfect and tidy parts. You know people best from the fights figured out and the quirks learnt. From the incoherence of different ways of living jolting together to eventually become cursive neatly formed by a fountain pen.

I’d rather sit with you while you cry your pain out than see you bottle it up and package the working through into a neat little bow.

I want to see the incoherent scribbles of your lives because one day we will look back on them and see how far we’ve come and how much we’ve loved and seen.

Incoherent scribbles make up a life worth living, because they aren’t actually incoherent.

They are your thoughts and words and desires and dreams and hopes and worries. The things that are worth sharing with the right people.

So here’s to letter writing, a lost art I wish would return. I’m 100% up for penpals if anyone is interested, let’s bring that back.

And trust me, darling friend, that I will always prefer and long for your incoherent scribbles than silence.

R/