Love a Little

Last weekend my Mama, in a fit of good housekeeping, decided to clear out her attic. To my surprise and delight, she discovered, among her own treasures and not-so-treasured junk, some boxes of mine transported home from abroad - at great expense and hassle - when I returned all those hundreds of years ago.

Inside was my long-mourned, presumed-swiped collection of authentic amber and early-90s paste jewellery… as well as some rather sexier items: a Chanel handbag and cuff (precious!), an Azzedine Alaïa dress (relic) and, more precious still, love letters.

All those things are touchingly out of date, I hear you thinking. And you're right. Those letters were written to a much younger, dewier me - the me who wore that Azzedine Alaïa dress without a backward glance.

Upon opening this treasure-trove/time-capsule hybrid, I also felt sad when I realised that so many of you are unlikely to experience the delight of stumbling on such a precious cache of letters in your future.

E-mails, SMSs, BBMS and DMs don't last that well. They don't lie in waiting under dust in attics. Messages in the ether fade away and get lost in the past, just like some of the people who write them. And that is so sad.

Of course, in my case, my poor exes have not been allowed to fade into the shadows of my frisky youth. Their many failings have been thoroughly exhumed in this column. Exhaustively, I know.

Some of them were rogues and rascals, and didn't always behave according to The South African COSMO Handbook For Lovely Boyfriends, it must be said - but they could all write a cracking love letter.

I discovered funny postcards from film sets. Hilarious and rude (rather drunk?) X-rated blue airmail letters from late-night hotel rooms. Streams of consciousness from long-haul flights. Long, explanatory missives: 'It's not me, it's you...' Insightful ones: 'You have everything but confidence. I wish you knew yourself the way I know you.'

Heartbreakers: like the card that accompanied the beautiful black roses delivered to me the day before a much-loved ex married the woman he chose over me. 'I know I'm doing the right thing but a part of my heart will always be yours.' Small sob. Even now.

Those letters were tender, and mad and wonderful, and reading them made me feel like that girl I once was. The girl who never realised how lucky and deserving she was of all that love.

Love letters are magical when you receive them but they're even lovelier years later. This collection reminded me of who I was then - infuriating, self-obsessed, flighty and yet clearly a person who mattered to the people who mattered to me. My advice to you, in this non-Valentine's month? Get a pen and paper (I'm sure you can find some somewhere. Perhaps in a museum?) and write a letter to your love.

Ask him, after reading it, to put it somewhere safe but easily forgotten; a place where it stands a good chance of being discovered one day in the future, when he least expects it. Write from your heart. Maybe he'll be tempted to write one back to you. Here's hoping.

Author: Vanessa Raphaely