It's from Henry. It seems ages since I've heard from him, even though we used to write letters only twice a year, only those notes we left for each other. I guess during that time over Christmas, I grew used to the cards and letters, and then he stopped.
Was it because he got cold feet, didn't want to meet in person?
After an absence, this card.
You've mentioned Tenerife. Let's meet there at the equinox.
My breath catches. This sounds impulsive, from Henry.
I'm sorry I haven't written. The darkness has started depressing me. It happens sometimes. To get sick in the sun and depressed in the dark--hardly a life to share with anyone. It's making me want a change--and I want to see you, want you to be part of that change.
I don't know what to say. I'm reading a letter. I don't have to say anything. I have to find Lydia.