“What’s interesting about all this is that the movie itself was called The Love Letter. And in the movie, one person after another picks up this anonymous letter and each person thinks that it’s meant for them. And then, each person in the movie starts eyeing people, seeing them in this whole new light as they wonder, is this the person who sent me the letter?
The point is, I guess, the letter, through its sheer vagueness, can mean what anyone wants it to mean. That is, as long as the meaning involves love and them.” (“This American Life,” ep. 288)
I’ve wondered about this unsigned post card that came for me at work since September, when it landed on my desk with nary a hint as to who sent it. Is it from a pining former paramour, as the romantic part of my brain hopes it is? An incarcerated felon who for whatever reason subscribes to The Dickinson Press, as my more suspicious reasoning suspects? Or some psychological ploy to trick me into coming down to Key West, Fla.? Probably that.
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