JournalCharles. The art of letter writing. Something I have not done in many years due to instant email and social media gratification. Good Lord! I can remember a time when a lover and I would write to each other every day by snail mail. I could hardly wait to run home in Bernal Heights then from work via slow-ass MUNI J-Church to find his daily letters I could hardly wait to run home to find his daily letter, and I would soak for an hour in the bathtub and read them over and over until I was as giddy as a school girl. He was had moved to Dallas while I remained in San Francisco, so we wrote three-page love-letters on pretty letter paper sweetened with cologne and kisses and then telephoned nightly when I couldn't wait to hear voicemail. My only regret now is that when he died I was so shattered I burned every letter. Today, I re-started an old habit when I realized how lonely it is here no matter who you meet and how much I miss my dearest friends I left behind in San Francisco and have known longer than anyone on the planet . . .