Apropos of nothing, really. I’m currently in the midst of a massive summer purge in which I’m to get rid of clothes, art supplies and crap that is no longer needed; and I’ve stumbled upon two containers of old notes from friends and young loves. Oh my.

Paper, in one of its more beautiful metaphors, has memory. Once the fibers are creased, the sheet is forever changed; its physical composition altered by a hand or a mistake. When uncreased again, you can see evidence of touch, of how the thing was previously handled. This is why the examination of old documents is so appealing, so telling. My notes are, of course, creased and folded into complex constructions in order to maintain the integrity of their secret contents. At 12 and 13, I remember the anxiety of the folding. Was I folding the note properly or did it reveal my ignorant unpopularity? Have no fear, future humans, there is a Wiki-page for such anxieties.

Handwritten notes are highly recommended in sales and business transactions, and there’s even a TED Talk encouraging everyone to write letters to people. There’s something so human in the intimacy of a note passed, particularly in today’s world where everything, it seems, is stored digitally. A note, on the other hand, stands out. It happens once only and can never be duplicated exactly. It takes more time. There might even be postage. (Imagine every email costing you $0.44.)

In considering the notes, I wonder what is or will be lost to younger generations, who text rather than form sentences and email rather than fold hand-written letters. What if my little brother never receives a note from a girl (or boy) with lyrics copied from a song, detailing the depths of her love? What if my little sister has no record of how disgusting her first kiss was? Or a boy asking if they’ll be alone soon? Or a record of the shows watched as he wrote her notes?! (Third Rock from the Sun, King of the Hill.)

As I write this, I realize that the essays I make are a kind of extended note to the world. Evidence of the human hand is critical, mistakes are necessary to the message, the turning of the page is considered. Same with artists’ books. These things are all a way for humans to engage with one another, to suggest – like the MJ song – we are not alone. To tell ourselves and others that everything will be ok.