Monday, February 21, 2011

Henry's handwriting jumps to me from the page. His voice, as I know it.

How are you? It seems strange to think of you not in our house--to think of you somewhere I've never been. Sometimes, I forget that we've had lives before this.

He does not mention coming to see me. I thought he might, since we've both been saving money. I need to stop thinking.

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