I could figure out what she meant pretty easily.
So, how are you?
I wrote to Tory in January.Claim your 7 day free access.I checked our last exchange on Instagram a picture of lily and dan baby gift box daffodils on my dining room table, the caption We made it through January, her like below.Its people who disappear when youre not looking.To have more fun.My goal was to arrive at that milestone without regret.We walked on, subdued by the knowledge that somewhere far from our quiet country trail, a horrifying, all too familiar drama was once again unfolding.But, despite forty-two years of ongoing conversation, I completely missed the message.These were pre-Starbucks days, back when a cup of coffee in a small New England restaurant was just a cup of coffee.And my husband and parents are healthy.Note, pretend I can spell, exit through the gift shop watch free online pretend I know how to punctuate, and anything that really doesnt make sense, let me know and Ill sort it out.Writing deepens my awareness, creates intimacy, clarifies my intentions.Even so, we had our ritual.I dont remember when Tory created this delicate vessel for me, only that she did.They have the power to inflame as well as to inform, to separate as well as to connect.
He asked, after wed exchanged hugs and hellos and settled into our chairs.Far from home, with no place to put my remorse or sorrow, I panicked.Heres what doesnt make sense: These were her last words.She says shes not scared, Cynde said.Used cruelly, words shame and alienate and bully.Coffee, id never had a taste for coffee before I arrived at college in the fall of 1976.The bowl was where it has always been.Back at home, fixing dinner, I left the TV off.Tell me about you, I said to my friend, taking a sip of wine.
There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and only those things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real.