The lost art of cursive

I write in cursive. I feel like it's a lost art.

When I was in second grade, the big thing was to go to 3rd grade and learn how to write cursive. My mom would write in it all the time and all I wanted to do was be able to read it. It was like a secret language. Just like when I learned to read, I never stopped. I can't stop. Reading and writing is like a secret door into any world I want. I always want to be a part of those worlds [wow that was a little bit of a Little Mermaid moment]. Writing in cursive is not only easier but it still thrills me to see this "grown up" script. As I flip through my journal, I realized I only write in cursive. My thoughts come out too fast to print carefully. Sometimes I can hardly read my own handwriting, but that just adds to the fun. Writing long-form also helps me decipher my moods when I go back and read past entries. If I'm upset it's mad scribbling that runs together; if I’m tired it slants down and is really loopy or if I’m happy the letters take up all of the line height.

When I think of past generations who signed their names at Ellis Island in loopy script, or letters sent back and forth from haunted and devoted lovers, I imagine them all being in cursive. Cursive writing is just romance dancing on the page.