why don’t you

Where did her letters go, notes from far-away places written with care about her work and little everyday things.

How light the paper was on which this all was drawn.

How eager I was to know what might be, and what might have been, and what is, and it was all beautiful to read.

And then, and then … one day no letter came back, and soon no letters went forward.

This is why don’t you, off courts:

 

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