Love and sex, it's all the same!

Love letters, so can you remember these little guys from your school yard days. The hours spent hiding the letter as the teacher would brush past, thinking you were some kind of magician performing some sort of disappearing act. Artfully passing them across the room, feeling flush and rosy cheeked knowing at any moment the teacher may intercept. The unthinkable, she would accuse knowingly,

“What is it that you have to say without saying it to the class”.

The elaborate paper folds offering little security for your top notch secrets. It would lie open in her hands, as she would scan the awkward text with those beady little eyes purposefully stalling to gather the students attention. You can feel the lump in your throat building up to chocking point, and your face burns with humiliation.



Of course she’s going to share it with the class. A whirl wind of prepubescent emotion is dropped down like a bomb, and you’re in the centre. Is there any other punishment as impetuous and useful as this?

But have you ever wondered what happened with those little top secret missiles of destiny or ever wished for one last peek at who you were when you were fifteen and life seemed so easy? Well last night something quiet strange happened. I was drinking some wine with an old school friend after helping her move into a new unit, when she reveals that she has carefully stored every letter from school. And too my amazement she produced an old short bread tin from her bedside.

Opening a box like this may not seem like much of a deal, but in actual fact it is. Here within lies the truth of a young man, desperate to learn about life and its intricate details.. Sex, love and alcohol… And all he has is one weekend to learn it all. This was definitely heavy stuff for one to grasp, a terrible insight to what was once forgotten. I was only disappointed really, to read the ramblings of a young insecure gent, fumbling along looking for acceptance all the while pretending to boast a rich superiority over his peers. (Read: A transparent cover up). But worst of all, here was the entire entourage of characteristics I can observe in my own Mother. The very person I judge so harshly. Ouch!

I guess it’s not all bad. Actually it was quiet enjoyable to be honest. It was like I was reading the secret life of my best mate who let’s face it; I had a mega huge crush on at the time. All the little notes from the other guys in the class, and there unforgettable personalities.. Including a good friend who has sense passed. It felt a good as digging up a time capsule, though I’ve never actually dug up a time capsule but I’ll assume. Because by default it really had become one, and for that moment I felt like I was just a kid again.. Horny as hell, and the most important topic on the mind was getting laid then drunk.. In that order!

I can’t help but feeling like it’s a shame we have the convenience of emails, texting and social networking site’s. All the creative personal touches and individuality.. From the forming of letters to the style of writing..

I miss love letters.