I feel like girls are so stereotyped sometimes - we are expected to romanticize everything and demand a certain type of love. We are supposed to cry, love flowers, be addicted to romantic comedies, but in reality we are just searching for a love that we know and have faith is out there for us. We cannot be faulted by having hope.
The other day I went with a few of my friends to an old antique shop a town over. I didn't know what quite to expect when I walked in there. There was tons of antique glassware lining the walls and shelves. Everywhere you looked there was a previously loved tea set with intricate blue designs forming swirls and flowers. There were little ceramic figurines of all different shapes and sizes - cats, dogs, children, ladies dressed in pink - they sat around staring at you. Then you had the jewelry that once meant something important to someone. You had the rare finds like the record player and old wooden furniture. But then we just happened to stumble on the postcard section. At first glance I just wanted to walk right past it and not look through the hundreds and possibly even thousands of postcards until I saw they were placed in different sections. There were categories that were states, valentines, military, kittens, Virginia Tech, royalty, each postcard was unique. I started just glancing at some before I realized that certain ones were used, they had writing on them. Thank yous were exchanged, old friends caught up, and a few lucky postcards contained this little thing called love.
On October 10, 1911, F Lorence wrote to Laurel Rogers.
"It is nine o'clock and I am wide awake and I wonder are you sleeping. How I love to sit with you and watch the sun rise but rather chilly to sleep on the veranduh these days. Give my regards to Mr. Weaver. What are you doing these days. Sincerely yours, F Lorence"
On July 6, 1910, Rose wrote to Mr. E. Jones
"I wonder who you're kissing now, I hope she not got a sore face like me you old bad eye. Wait till you come over, I'll fix you. Yours truly, Rose"
I found myself reading history and understanding what love is. Love isn't some stable thing that is predictable - it's like a post card. You send it to one person, not knowing how the person will react when they get the card. Then it contains personal secrets, inside jokes, words that mean something to you. It may not get to the person, the person who is to receive it may not be open to receiving it. But in the end, you have to at least try. You have to try to send that postcard, try to love. These postcards that I was reading contained success and I am sure some were failures, but their stories stood the test of time. Love stands that test. Whether you like it or not, each person you love takes a piece of you that you might not be able to get back. I believe that true love is out there and that I will find it. I will take that leap and send that postcard. I am a hopeless romantic because over a hundred years ago, Rose took a leap of faith and it might have worked out. Watch out world, I am looking for something that I am determined to find.
PS: Never underestimate the value of an antique store.
