He says his name is Tron. His cocoa-coloured eyes stare up at me from his online photo while he pleads for a letter from me — or any other human with two X chromosomes and an Internet connection. I can’t write to Tron. This may be because the firm set of his jaw is intimidating, but more likely it’s because our first date would be delayed until 2011. Tron has been incarcerated for the last 19 years for voluntary manslaughter.

I have never received a love letter. The closest I came was when my sixth grade crush, Keon Pud, passed me a note. Written in his tiny, perfect print were the words:

I like you. Do you like me?
Circle one: Yes/No.

Maybe it’s my up-chuck reflex to public displays of affection and pet names that repels the letter-writing type. Maybe it’s the fact that I responded with “maybe” on Keon’s note. Or, it may have less to do with me and more to do with sentiment-sterilized technology. Why put pen to paper and confess unwavering devotion when you can send instant e-cards or text message “I heart ya, babe.”

Whatever the reason, I believed, that the romantic notion of love letters was a thing of the past, reserved for the likes of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and John Keats. I realized that I would never hold a delicate, vulnerable letter in my crinkled, time-weathered hands and re-read words of lost loves from my youth. I had accepted this letter-less fate until I stumbled upon a website brimming testimonials of gleeful couples, corresponding almost exclusively with hand written letters, professing that they had met their soul mates. So it seems that love letters have not completely vanished but have been revived in the most unlikely of places — within prison walls.

Writeaprisoner.com is the largest prison pen pal website featuring approximately 5,000 profiles. The site encourages those on “the outside” to write to inmates in an effort “to reduce the likelihood of inmates re-offending upon release.” The website explains: “Your letters of friendship and encouragement can inspire an inmate to improve himself, to seek an education, to find employment upon release.” And the ultimate guilt trip: “Your letters might prevent a suicide or other desperate act born of loneliness. Your letters have the power to impact a human life that has otherwise been disposed of in that vast wasteland known as the prison system.”

On September 10, 1939, Canada joined the Second World War. David K. Hazzard was one of the million Canadian soldiers to enlist. Hazzard sent letters home to his two little girls and his wife, Audrey. The Globe and Mail began publishing his letters in the fall of 2008 in a section titled “Dear Sweetheart,” because of the way he began each letter.

Separated by distance and warfare, soldiers wrote in the hopes that one day they could pen the words “I’m coming home.” Hazzard sent words of such sweet devotion they would serenade the most wounded of hearts and embrace the most reluctant lovers.

Dear Sweetheart,

I hope that you don’t think I was being too casual in my goodbye to you at the station. But you know how I hate a scene, and I didn’t feel any too good myself so I had to say cheerio and run ... It was extremely hard to say anything to you or particularly the youngsters, and I am glad they aren’t old enough to realize the uncertainty of this last goodbye.

Before I go any further though, I want you to know that I feel certain that I’ll be back with you for a great many more anniversaries ... The one important thing I want you to know is that I love you with all my heart, and that this love will not alter one bit no matter how long I am away.

(David K. Hazzard 1941)

Hazzard and Audrey met one evening in Ontario as they rehearsed lines for a play at Mimico United Church. Hazzard walked his would-be wife home, and in that short niche of time their love story began. They were married in 1934 and had their first daughter a year later. From the moment they met until Hazzard left to serve his country, the duo had never been separated for more than a few nights. The letter above is the first he sent and was written before he had even shipped out. While serving his country overseas, Hazzard wrote more than 200 letters home, often writing multiple letters a day.

When separated by war, letters were a link into each other’s lives. Similar to love letters sent decades ago, detainee sweethearts also face separation for long periods of time, only now it is the judicial system that parts them.

In the past, love letters were written to keep two people, who knew one another personally and intimately, in touch. Today, prison pen-pals converse and confide through letters alone. Though they are welcome to send photos, they often never physically meet.

As I peruse the prison pen-pal site the phrase “Stranger-Danger!” pops into my mind and I wonder if loving a person’s words means loving them.

Writeaprisoner.com launched in 2000 and, for $40 a year, inmates can post their profiles. Each inmate has his own page that features a photo, a letter to the public and personal details. The website could pass for MySpace or Lavalife. Do you feel like connecting with a tall, blue-eyed Buddhist? Looking for chemistry with a fellow Virgo? The site enables you to search by these characteristics. Height, weight, eye colour, religion, hometown, sexual preference, marital status: these are just a few of the personal details available to the public.

The obvious difference between WriteAPrisoner.com and Lavalife are the sections for whether the inmate is serving a life sentence, is on death row and what crime they have committed. Profiled inmates have been convicted of offenses that “range from burglary to grand larceny to assault and battery to first-degree murder.” It’s not the sweet and simple meeting that the Hazzards had, but judging by the website testimonial board, stranger-danger seems like a risk many are willing to take.

Rose, a pen-pal on “the outside,” writes: “I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart in helping me to find my other half. I met my angel on July 12 of this year (his birthday) and it has been like a match made in heaven and all those other innuendos we so often hear about. Anyway, I would just again like to thank you. We are getting married in just two short weeks and he is getting out in February. We are both VERY happy … thanks to you.”

Oh. There goes my up-chuck reflex.

Dear Sweetheart,

I like the snaps you sent, particularly the one with you in it. What have you done to your hair? It is a different style than I’ve seen it before and looks lovely. Mrs. Black is right, you don’t look a day over 20 and you grow lovelier all the time. You do remember that I love you? Don’t ever forget it — not that I’ll give you an opportunity to and I hope that I can be close enough soon to whisper that fact directly into your ear.

(David K. Hazzard 1943)

My sister and I scan through inmate profiles.

“Oh, this one’s pretty cute,” she says.

“Wait, wait, wait. Let’s see what he did.”

One click and the inmate’s history unfold before us.

“Ooo, armed robbery with a deadly weapon,” we whisper, transfixed by this effortless glimpse into the stranger’s life.

“That’s not that bad,” I reason. It’s true. We had been looking at the site for an hour and this was a decent discovery.

A profile picture catches my eye: an awkwardly tall 21-year-old stands in the centre of the photo; he’s painted the words “Pick Me!” onto his t-shirt. He wouldn’t be out of place at a party or sitting in a study group. He’d be the class clown that all the girls would secretly have a crush on. He says he’s a “fun-loving, no worries, kind of guy,” but he’ll be behind bars for up to 17 years for attempted murder.

While convictions are intimidating it’s not difficult to understand why so many people ignore possible dangers and write to prisoners. According to Sarah Birke’s article “U Mean the World 2 Me,” fewer than 20 per cent of people have received a love letter in the past year. About 28 per cent have received one in the past five. Conversely, prisoners are willing to pay to be profiled on Internet sites that display their personal information and crimes. Patrick Cole, an inmate profiled on writeaprisoner.com writes, “Mail is one of the most cherished items in a prisoner’s life; he brightens when it arrives, and drops his head when his cell is passed by.”

Dear Sweetheart,

Two hundred letters, just to say three words — I love you — not to mention all the ones I forgot to number.

(David K. Hazzard 1943)

In 2006, two years after his wife passed away, William Shaw wrote in Newsweek, “We Had the Love But I Long For the Letters.” In their 46 years of marriage, Shaw explains that not once did they exchange love letters.

“The memories that pictures and souvenirs produce are marvelous, and I wouldn’t part with them, but what I don’t have, in black or blue on white, are her thoughts,” he wrote.

While they were never parted long enough to feel the need to write to one another, Shaw laments the lack of tangible proof of her love for him. A love letter is just that — proof that you once loved and were loved.

“Our lives have changed. That special something in a personal letter has disappeared with the advent of telephones, airplanes and now email — which is impersonal and limited by the lack of what I shall call ‘personal ambience,’” Shaw wrote.

Shaw was on to something. Type the oxymoron “romantic texts” into Google and nearly five million results pop up. Romantic text messages are like those sweetheart candies you get on Valentines Day. They’re cute and temporarily tasty but, as they dissolve, you’re left with a chalky taste on your tongue and nothing tangible. Writer Chuck Klosterman was on the right track when he wrote, “Love letters are like suicide notes — if someone is in the emotional position to consider writing one, they’re generally in the worst psychological position to make any cogent sense.”

One of the Google results, romantictexts.com, encourages text-tyrants to send love texts — or “sext messages” as they’re often called.

“Love till it hurts n wen it hurts, luv som mor. And wen it hurts som mor, luv evn mor n wen it hurts evn mor, luv till it hurts no mor,” is just one of the hundreds.

I can’t decide what is worst: the fact that these can be sent as group-texts while the sender sits on the toilet, the cringe-worthy content, or the fact that people have resorted to plagiarizing sext messages. Worried that your “msg wont b enuf?” No problem. Romantictexts.com encourages sending insta-ecards to your sweetie: “Writing a love letter? Use cute email animation that will melt every girl’s heart! It’s free!”

Cell phones get lost. Computers crash. Calls are screened. Technology and romance repel one another. Families of soldiers today are asked to print off emails they receive from their enlisted loved ones. This precautionary measure is not only for the families but also for historic preservation. Recording and understanding what people go through in times of war are not trusted to the fickle nature of technology.

We’ve segued into an age where we only feel comfortable pouring our anonymous hearts out to inmates serving five to 10 in Alabama. We’d rather Google “sext messages” for raunchy one-liners than write something worth remembering.

Love letters are barely surviving. So find a piece of paper, a sheet of music, even a napkin and start writing.

“Dear Sweetheart” is always a good start.