Nowadays, I find myself in the habit of boiling water for tea. Just like you. The whispering, creaking kettle sounds like the air from your lungs passing through the lambswool lining of your morning larynx. I leave the fire on for a while and listen to your daily dissertation detailing the benefits of drinking tea. Back then, I’d call it a myth and laugh. You would laugh too. Then we would...
seat-belt-hands asked: I just wanted to say my thoughts are with you. I know that's not much, but it's true.
A package came in your name today. I guess the house is a dead letter office that offers no solace because this is still your home. And every thing—-pulseless, inanimate, unmovable—-knows you belong here. -Joekenneth