A few days ago, I wrote a stranger a letter.

I told her she was pretty.

She told me she really hoped I'd start writing. She couldn't possibly have known to say that.

How could she have known that I had to hear it from a pretty stranger before I'd listen?

It was wonderful, though. It was what I've been wanting to hear, what I've been ignoring from the mouths of people less important, or less true.



It makes sense, I think, that professionals and close friends would be less important to me than some pretty thing on Facebook who tripped over exactly the right reciprocal compliment.

In a PS.



So, I thought maybe I'd write something. This was unplanned. So were most of the good things that have happened for me, though.


Maybe I'll do it again sometime. The editing is a lot more fun now that I'm doing it on my own time.

Fixing the sentences to make them just so. It's kind of nice without a deadline. Or a goal.