Gotta have your own space .. We pass each other stepping over toes and hems to find each other across rooms, down short hallways, always wondering where the other is and why she don't write. Still in our own notebooks we do write, even sometimes to each other, loveletters to ourselves - find myself singing the same songs every day and a sorry excuse for your laughter it is, not that I've thought to tell you. When I forget to write I talk to you in the car in singing along to the radio, unselfconscious but remembering you free for a moment, forgetting your careful burdens and the people you usually carried under your collarbone and on the clean skin of your shoulders. Devotchka always a young goblin queen underneath, all words and uninnocent magic; the world's most reluctant steel trap of a memory hidden in smoky nonchalance. Every cup of coffee I drink smells like hard rain in winter.

Words fail me lately. I've begun to read again, a thirsty woman unsure if the well will draw tomorrow. These days, it's easy to be overwhelmed by the easy luxury of time to read, and I take it slowly where I can. Down a pint of blood today. How solicitous the nurses, how polite the talk of school and work and weather! Such a healthy-looking girl, a good girl's face.. you never do know, these days.

"I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she should be worthy."
(Much Ado About Nothing)
. . .
I have been asleep for weeks.