Dear,

I must have a small heart. I feel less than
you. It’s cold here and I miss your dexterity
with furnaces. Mom’s OK, but I think I preferred
living far from here. I feel everything that
made me leave this city eight years ago. I feel
everything that stopped when I met you. I feel
everything. You say you’re not happy, alone
at most times, depressed. I bet you’re rarely
alone. What’s the winter like there? I was in
North Carolina during Christmas. Missed the snow.

P.