The Hidden Life of the P.S.: Where Truth Slips In

Why the P.S. holds our most honest thoughts, and how this small afterthought became the most emotionally powerful part of a letter

Dear Reader,

There’s something about a postscript that feels like a secret. You’ve said what you meant to say. You’ve signed your name. The letter is done. Complete. And then…

P.S. One more thing.

Not the formal or polished kind, but the thought that slipped past the first draft. The one that waited until the end to make itself known. Maybe it’s the scribble at the bottom of a card or written up the side of a page or jotted on the back of a sealed envelope. Wherever it appears, I’ve always loved that part.

This P.S. is from a letter written to me (on a napkin!) in 1990. Bet you can guess my answer.

The postscript (from the Latin post scriptum, meaning “written after”) has been around almost as long as letters themselves. In early handwritten correspondence, if you remembered something after signing your name, you didn’t rewrite the whole page (paper was too expensive), you added a P.S. at the end. A small correction. An afterthought. A quiet “oh, wait.”

But over time, the P.S. became something else entirely. A second chance to say what mattered most. A place for confessions, truths, and things too vulnerable for the body of the letter. So they waited…until the bottom of the page.

Like:

• I miss you more than I said above.

• Don’t worry about me.

• I never stopped thinking about that day.

We don’t need postscripts anymore, technically. We can edit endlessly. Move paragraphs. Rewrite sentences. Delete entire thoughts before anyone ever sees them. But I’m not talking about computers. I’m talking about letters. More specifically, the P.S.

Why do I love them?

Because they change the tone. They say, now that everything “proper” has been said, here’s the real thing.

The postscript is the emotional exhale. Often the line you remember most. The one that lingers. In looking back at letters I’ve saved, it’s almost always the P.S. that stays with me.

A few of many P.S. lines that still echo.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about postscripts differently. Not just at the end of letters, but at the end of chapters, years, relationships, versions of ourselves we thought were complete. How often do we believe something is finished, only to realize there’s more to say?

A friendship that resurfaces. A truth that arrives years late. A feeling that finally finds its words.

P.S. You were always the one.

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to them. Because they leave room for what wasn’t ready, or what took time, or what couldn’t be said the first time around. They remind us that endings aren’t always endings. That something can be complete and still continue just beyond the margin.

If the body of a letter is what we know, the postscript is what we’re still discovering. And maybe that’s why it feels so alive.

With love (and so many more thoughts I almost added)

P.S. Do you use postscripts in your letters? Are there any you still remember?

P.P.S. (post-post-scriptum: an additional thought added after the postscript!) I’ll be in Alaska next week on a cruise with (fingers crossed) strong WiFi. If not, this Substack may arrive a little late.

SONG OF THE WEEK

P.S. by Gnash. I love this sweet song. It really captures the feeling of a P.S., the thought that arrives after everything else has been said.

NEW BOOK COMING OUT!

Felice Cohen is an award-winning author, best known for squeezing big ideas into small spaces—like her 90-square-foot NYC apartment (yes, really). Her books include Half In: A Coming-of-Age Memoir of Forbidden Love, 90 Lessons for Living Large in 90 Square Feet, and What Papa Told Me, with praise from legends like Elie Wiesel and Rita Mae Brown. Her viral YouTube tour has racked up over 25 million views—mostly from people wondering where she kept her shoes. More at felicecohen.com.