You Remind Me of You
I saw your face today and barely recognized it.
And despite the lack of longing I felt at your features...
I still ached from the lingering feeling of your thumb running the length of my spine. Your voice still whispered and caught in the silence between my ears. My hands still hovered at your hips and the nape of your neck just before my fingers knit themselves into your hair. Your breath sat lead-heavy on my lips. And my teeth wished to scrape deep fissures across your collar bones.
And hello, have we met?
the socializing street
.
to observe / verb
notice or perceive (something) and register it as being significant
His place feels familiar as if I already walked pass these walls and felt the floors with my bare feet, touched the surfaces and scraped my knees after a fall. But not in real life, yet in some strange faded dream. Like the weakest of memories, that’s sewed to your skin, your muscles, and your being. I turn around towards him and my thoughts stop. I feel like I was grabbing on to something special but lost the connection. My eyes gaze up at him and the memory slips away as if dissolving into thin air. I watch the space around me and snap out of it, not understanding what just happened. Déjà vu? Perhaps, all was possible in my case. I smile at Charlie and attempt to act like a normal person. Well, I try anyway.
Nice apartment. Clean and organized ...
I say, but don’t really focus on my own words. I ask him for some orange juice, tease him a bit and disappear into the hallway. Third floorboard on the left, next to the window squeaks - a sudden thought runs through my head and I frown. I walk in the bathroom and shake my head in frustration, feeling foolish. The morning pains must have been stronger than I assumed. My eyes wander to the mirror and I forget everything else. I groan so loudly that my reflection in the glass starts to shake. He’s there in just a moment but I quickly brush off the whole thing. He leaves and I use the time to get back to anything that might help me resemble a human being again. I looked so worn out. The bags under the eyes, pale skin, hair in a mess - a true sight for sore eyes.
I return after some time, and we talk in the kitchen. I start to relax when our conversation is quickly brought to a halt. I hear a key in the lock and turn my head to see who it is. My mind always expecting the worst possible news; by now it’s a habit, an almost involuntary reflex that I can’t control. I hear amused voices and the door finally opens.
My gaze is carefully set on a young woman as she walks in, smiling and chatting with the guy that opened the door first. My eyes narrow and scan her as fast as any woman’s eyes would when judging another woman. She has long red hair that goes past her waist and appears to be around my height, but a tad shorter. She’s slim, wearing black leather leggings and a long green sweater, it looks soft and good quality. She has dark red sneakers and a big bag hanging from her shoulder. I judge her at being around 20 years old. Less than three blinks of an eye and my eyes wander to the guy - similar height to Charlie’s if not higher. It must run in the family, good gene pool. He’s well-built with impressive shoulders. Short brown her and blue eyes, a big smile that suddenly turns into shock and disbelief.
Mmm, my keeper really must be a loner if a woman in his apartment causes such a reaction. I look at the key in his hand and then at Charlie’s unhappy face. Obviously, the famous brother that I heard so little about. There is a moment of awkward silence and finally, the girl breaks it.
Hi, I’m Jenna. And you must be...
She walks over and outstretches her hand; I smile and take it.
Eleonore, Charlie’s nuisance and the reasons for his thrills.
Oh, really?
She doesn’t seem to bother by my words, on the contrary, she seems to be interested in what I had to say. Hmm, I might just like her.
Yes, though I think he prefers to spell it as ‘friends’. He chooses to be in denial about my bad qualities and focuses on saving me from the big bad world, and sometimes I even let him.
Jenna’s face twitches uncomfortably, and she can’t hold it for too long. We all hear her delicate laugh fill the room. Like listening to wind chimes and feeling the warm sun’s rays on your skin. My laugh probably sounds like a hyena on drugs next to her’s. Mmm, it probably does. I get up and outstretch my hand again, walking up to the brother.
Robert, I think you can snap out of your shock state now. Yes, in fact, I am a woman in your brother’s four walls. Would an explanation that I invited myself in calm down your suffering nerves? Charlie, maybe you should examine him, where is your black bag these days?
Exactly, where it should be. Rob, come on. Just shake her hand, otherwise, she will be standing there all day, digging you deep into the ground.
I send Charlie a dark look and just grab his brother’s hand, shaking it. That finally breaks the charm. In less than a second, I am pulled into a big bear hug. I am so shocked that I don’t even struggle or try to pull away. After a moment I tap him on a shoulder with a free hand, as I’m having trouble moving. Were all the Evans people so open and kind-natured?
Ehm, Rob? Could you let go now...? Few more seconds of this closeness and you’re going to have to marry me.
He laughs wholeheartedly, and I can feel his laugh vibrate through my entire body with my teeth banging against each other. It’s like hugging a power drill.
I would listen to her; you wouldn’t want your nose to get broken again.
Robert finally releases me from the intense embrace, and I can once again breathe with a full chest. I stare at Charlie.
Again?
It’s a long story. Let’s just say he’s a hugger and not all the girls enjoy it.
I hear a deep sigh and turn to the girl.
I did apologize for that like a million times, Charlie. Besides, his nose is all healed, and he looks as handsome as ever. No foul, no harm. Don’t you agree, Elle?
I stare at Jenna and try to control my face muscles.
Absolutely, he had it coming. First, test the field, and then lock a girl in a lovable yet a tight and bone-cracking embrace.
See? I told you that was common knowledge.
Alright, I will give you that. But you know, even though I liked seeing the damage you caused, I was still the one, that had to put that nose back together.
She grins and walks up to her evident boyfriend. She stands on her toes and kisses him on the lips. He starts to put an arm around her but before he can do anything she slips out with a mischievous smile.
Need to freshen up, order some food. I bet Elle is starving. Look at her, just skin and bones, I’m so jealous.
The corners of my lips lift slightly.
I’m working on it, but he doesn’t feed me enough.
I point at Charlie, sit comfortably by the kitchen table and cross my arms accusingly. He just shakes his head.
Would have to be with her 24/7 to keep this one satisfied.
A wide smile spreads on my lips, I did always enjoy some wordplay.
It’s not your fault, Mr. Evans. No one can, I’m very high maintenance. Always left unsatisfied.
In the corner of my eye, I see Jenna stop in her tracks and watch the exchange with fascination. Robert looks confused like he just missed some vital information and Charlie just gives me a meaningful stare - he’s used to this, the other two not so much. I gaze at everybody and just shrug my shoulders.
Pizza would be great for me but order anything you want, I ’m not picky, will eat pretty much anything as long as it falls in the food category.
Jenna reluctantly disappears into the bathroom, Robert heads to his room and orders the takeout while Charlie crashes on the sofa, looking exhausted. I look concerned at him and decide to sit next to him. I touch his forehead; he seems to have a fever.
You need rest, tons of it.
I know, I think I caught some kind of bug.
Hmm, well you can just sit and relax here, and I will make you some tea. Then you can experience some home cooking, delivered in a box by a kind and hopefully very handsome delivery guy. No, no, save your voice. You’re too sick to throw heavy invectives in the air, far too sick for that.
I look amused at his expression and make him some hot tea. I investigate the kitchen cupboard above my head and find everything I need without trouble as if I spent every morning in this place. A small part of me is freaked out by this but the bigger part just shakes it off. I walk over to the living room and watch him stare at the TV. I throw a blanket at him and hand him the tea. He looks at it suspiciously.
What is this?
Just drink it, it’s good for you.
He takes a sip, then another and relaxes.
Chamomile.
Yes, with honey. Kills the germs and soothes the throat.
And how do you know that?
From being sick very often and having a mother that cares.
He gives me a funny look but then closes his eyes for a moment, his fingers still wrapped around the cup. I take it away from him and make him lie down, he doesn’t even protest. I walk to the front door and wait out in the hallway for the delivery guy, so the doorbell doesn’t wake him up. I hear footsteps behind me and turn around. It’s Rob.
What are you doing out here?
Waiting for the food, I’m very impatient.
His stare wanders off to the sofa and his brother that’s falling into a deep sleep, he gives me a small smile.
Ah, I see.
He hands me $40 and heads back.
Nora?
Yes?
Good to know that you are actually real. And, that my brother has someone to save, he’s great at that.
Depends on who you would ask... but thanks.
Besides, he really needs as many friends as he can, he sucks at socializing.
He makes an impression of a rather open person, to begin with.
Yes, but he concentrates all of his powers on his work.
Powers?
I ask surprised for a moment thinking about the healing powers that he has on me, but it can’t be that. I see Rob start to grin.
Yeah, you can call him a friendly Captain America but without the tights or a shield, just colorful scrubs instead.
My laugh is a bit nervous but I hope that he can’t hear it, and in fact, he doesn’t seem to notice. The door closes behind him and ten minutes later the food arrives. I pay for it, take it to the kitchen and gaze into the plastic bag; feeling my stomach cling to my back. Inside there are two medium size pizzas, a lot of garlic bread and some Cesar salad. The aroma drags Jenna out of the room. I watch with amusement as she grabs the bigger part of the food, winks at me and then quickly disappears back to the room. Just a couple of seconds later I hear giggles coming from across the hall. I try not to roll my eyes and then enjoy the pizza, its contents quickly vanishing - I mercifully leave some behind, just like a decent savage would.
For the next three hours, I amuse myself with TV; watching some bad soap operas and listening to the news. Eventually, I get bored and start to walk around the place. My mind lazily going through the events of today. I step closer to the window and the floor makes the most dreadful sound. I stop breathing as the same exact words, turn around in my mind on a constant loop. Third floorboard on the left, next to the window squeaks. I look at the window and then start to count, a loud moan escaping my lips. Déjà vu can be such a bitch sometimes. I hear a groan from the couch and turn around. He gives me a tired smile, I return it and sit down next to him, putting the thing that just happened in another tiny box called denial.
Did the nap help?
A little, I’m still feeling off.
You’ll get better when you eat something.
Maybe, if I can keep it in... Nora?
Yeah?
I was meant to ask before. How was your day?
I think you already asked me that, and it was very dull. Just some gossip from your adoration circle. Nothing new, really.
Of course. And then? I’m sure there was more.
I’m a boring person Charlie. I spend 4 hours tucked away in the hospital’s closet-size library and read my book. You know the drill... she has too much pride, he is full of prejudice, an idyllic balance if you ask me.
Sure, and that’s all you did.
I notice his doubtful face and sigh. Something that Joan told me earlier bouncing around in my scull, and floating up to the surface before I can stop it.
Fine, let’s say I have been doing a little volunteering work.
Is that so?
Yes, assisting one helpless old lady, who has a lot of character even when she doesn’t speak.
Mrs. Wilson.
I stare at him a bit shocked, arms crossed defensively. For a second, I feel like protesting and manipulating myself out of the situation but eventually, I just ask.
How did you find out?
A lucky guess, and years of observation. Besides, I asked around before living work.
Oh?
Yes, after seeing Mrs. O’Reilly, which I recognized from her visits at the hospital. She was in a bit of a state today. So I mentioned, I thought I would ask around.
My eyes narrow.
Joan?
Yes, though all she really told me is that Mrs. Wilson has the most exceptional guardian angel that you could ever imagine.
Oh, I see.
Care to share anything?
No, not especially. I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say I behaved myself and did everything according to the protocol. Don’t give me those stares, I have been in a true angelic state today, I swear.
My eyes and body language turn into a state of pure innocence, but he doesn’t seem very convinced. Slowly my thought shifts to this morning and I decide that things could have been much worse.
To be continued...
Last 3 chapters
13. https://theprose.com/post/262107/remembrance
14. https://theprose.com/post/268834/captured-moments
15. https://theprose.com/post/270473/living-arrangements
next chapter :
17. https://theprose.com/post/276704/visiting-hours
Use To Get High
Use to get high on the laughter of my friends
Use to get high on a summer day; way the light bends
Refracts from your eyes to the back of my mind
Carves out a memory that I’ll use to get high
Starting to build a tolerance for bliss I might die
Chasing down the ups by chemical design
Tripping on the cracks till it’s either fall or fly
If I knew who I was I’d be a better man inside
As it is I barely make it day to day
Half man/half pain like a bad penny in the rain
No one wants to pluck me from my place
Am I ahead or behind in this race?
Either way I’m alone, no one to keep pace
Might kick rocks and plan my escape
Get high on nostalgia with Mary Jane
If I could choose something I’d be a plane
A bird or an angel anything with wings
Don’t need the halo, never was a saint
But I’ll use my feathers like brushes to paint
Love is my ink, I’m on the brink
Of giving up completely or remaking me
Thing is they seem the same as I’m popping my seams
Right now I’m low but I use to get high
On the smell of a storm I saw in your eyes
You use to be mine, no that’s not right
You were your own and I was your guy
Now that I’ve sobered up from your goodbye
I’ve finally realized it’s time to get high
*Hits blunt
Mysterious Stranger
Mysterious stranger what have you done to me?
You come into my life like a dream that was meant to be.
You stole every sensation from my soul.
I can no longer think for myself, you have all control.
Though we are miles apart I feel like you hold a part of my heart.
I don't know how I let this be. All I can think of is his arms holding me.
To hear his voice sends chills up my spine.
My heart can't wait to hold the Mysterious Strangers lips to mine.
Internationalities
Mi bellota,
Your skull is thick, as are your hands,
Sometimes I want to take a mallet and punch some sense into you.
But you, pigna, are mi amor,
And I’ll forgive you for your idiocy.
Душа моя,
You shine brighter than any star,
Yet are like a black hole,
For forever am I drawn to you, дорого́й.
Mon coeur,
You are the space in my heart, filled,
The pieces I was missing.
je t'aime.
Note: Normally I'd apologise for my saccharine sweetness and cliches, but to hell with it.
Translations and Pronunciations:
Mi bellota- (me bay-oh-nah) my acorn
Pigna- (pee-n-ya) pine cone
Mi amor- my love
Душа моя- (couldn't find a pronuciation) my soul
дорого́й- (da-ra-góî, and it's for a guy) dear/darling
Mon coeur- (no pronunciation available) my sweet bun
je t'aime- (this one should be obvious) I love you
Dear you,
I wonder what you think of me.
I know that’s absurd—I’ve long stopped caring what people say about me. But I figured, after everything we’ve been through, that I can’t fault myself for curiosity.
Some days, I wake up feeling fine. I put on my favorite shirt (mine, not yours), buy a nice drink before work. Or, if it’s a weekend, I make brunch and hang out at the book club. I thought it’d be different going without you, but everyone’s still as nice as ever. I look fine to them, so they haven’t really brought you up except in passing. I still tense a little, but I suppose that’s to be expected.
Other times, usually when it’s raining—other times, I find myself alone in my apartment—the one you haven’t been to. I find myself thinking. If we still lived together, how would you make this tiny place your own? Would you put your souvenirs on display next to mine? I still have your seashell. If I set it next to my pen holder and squint—and this helps if it’s raining because the sky is darker, which makes everything a little blurrier—so if I put your seashell by the pen holder and tilt my head just so, I can almost imagine it.
And for a moment there, my apartments feels a tiny bit more familiar.
Is that love?
I know that unconditional love is loving someone in spite of their absurdity. I know that some people would prefer to find love in mutual flawlessness. Not me, and certainly not you. But that’s pretty much all I know. In the end, that’s how much anyone really knows how to say in words. They learn the rest through practice, through finding a home in each other.
Well, I can’t really do that anymore. So it’s just me, and my thoughts, and the afternoon rain.
It used to make me happy. Rain, I mean. You know that. Still does, in a way, but only after I’ve ripped my whole heart out. So there’s that.
Again. I wonder what you think of me. Sometimes, I want you to fondly reminisce of me like I do you. Sometimes, I want you to hate me, if only so you have the strength to move on. Romance novels would call that selfless, but to be honest on those days I don't feel anything except sorry for myself.
Other times, I want you to pine for me forever. Then I’ll see you at our bookshop that you don’t go to anymore, or maybe I’ll branch out and go to a few bars (unlikely), and we will fall into each other’s arms as we have before. This is selfish, if fun to think about; I would never want for it to happen in real life, though, because time and again the only thing I truly wish for is your happiness.
Is that love?
I don’t know.
Love,
Me
Stumble
This is an effort to keep from tripping over myself, because you know me, you know I’m all thumbs with words and two left feet when dancing.
But here’s what I know. There’s no one that loves me like you.
At my clumsiest, there you are to make me balanced. And I’m fine with me not dancing, because that means there’s more time to sit and bask in your glory.
And bask I do.
You ask me why, after all these years, all these times we’ve shared each other, why do I get nervous?
It’s always new to me, you’re always new to me, and I always want it to be as good as it can be, because you’re worth the effort.
You’re worth everything to me.
I think I’m getting clumsy again, even while sitting still, so before I stumble off towards whatever comes next, here’s the last thing I want you to know.
There’s nothing I want more than to make you happy, because you make me happy.
And I don’t need fancy words and great moves to know that.
The following is a series of three different letters written to Doctor Faustus from Christopher Marlowe’s 1592 tragic play, “Doctor Faustus”, from the perspective of his wife. While the play does not explicitly mention if Faustus is married, the letters are written contextually according to the events that transpire in the play. The tone of the trilogy of letters changes from doting to doubtful to despondent according to the events that occur in the play. Characterized by the name Mrs. Faustus, the speaker in the letters is expressing both her love and her broken heart to Doctor Faustus through his decision to choose power and knowledge over his own wife.
June 1st, 1568
Wittenburg, Germany
My Dearest Dr. Faustus,
You have just departed on your most recent journey and I as your wife am so proud and honored to even have your name. You are so incredibly smart, I am in awe of your genius and talent. What other man on earth can say that he has mastered the arts and practices of academia, medicine, philosophy, and medicine? I find myself extremely lucky to be married to a man of such knowledge and esteem. Politicians praise you, kings invite you to their court, and your name is known across all the regions of the world. What woman would not want to be married to such a wonderful man? As well as the fact that you have mastered all these arts already and seek to gain even more knowledge truly amazes me. Your mind itself is a prodigy, so much so that myself and many others might deem you the most intelligent man to ever live. You undeniably have it all, and now as your lawfully wedded wife, I have the privilege of standing beside you proudly as there is nothing as two lovers that we cannot have if we so desire. From the first time I met you to our many conversations about politics, religion, and philosophy to the moment you asked for my hand in marriage, I was intrigued yet also frightened by your wisdom. Your vast level of knowledge for the things both in and out of this world are mysteriously exciting and terrifying all at the same time. There are moments where I truly believe that you can read my thoughts and might condemn me for my less intelligent understanding of the world, but you love me just the same. Your love for learning is most attractive to me, I might even say that it is your constant thirst for knowledge that made me fall in love with you. There is nothing you cannot learn and then master, and there is no obstacle you cannot overcome. In my eyes, you are not only the wisest man to live, but you are also the most powerful man as well. I am so proud to call you my husband, and I simply cannot wait for your return, however long it may be until that day comes. I hope to see you very soon, my love.
Forever and Always Yours,
The Mrs. Faustus, Your Endearing Wife.
Dear Dr. Faustus,
April 30th, 1570
Munich, Germany
I must say that I am simply dumbfounded at this time. I do not hear from you nor receive any letters from you for so many months, as it is nearing on two years since you first embarked on this journey of yours. I cannot comprehend why you cannot personally write to me to tell me you will not come to our new home in my parent’s city as was planned. I believe that this is because you do not care for me anymore. It is beyond difficult for me to conjure any scenario in my mind where I might have done something to make you feel this way. Do you truly feel so discontented with me, your beloved wife, that I no longer satisfy you? I can only imagine that your apprentice and scribe, Mesastophillis, cannot be a positive influence on you and is forcing you to leave me all alone in this home by myself. What such a figure could convince you, the most intelligent man I have ever met, to do such a thing? Your wisdom surpasses that of all others, so I am unsure as to the reason why you would neglect the love of your life and the woman of your dreams. You told me I was perfect, an angel meant only for you, so why have you not come home, dear husband? On the day we wed, you and I promised each other that we would live in harmony together so long as we both shall live. My beloved, you have broken your promise to me. You have left me alone, without even a trace of yourself for me to hold onto. No longer can I stand to wonder if you value riches and knowledge and power more than your loyal wife. I hear of your travels, more elaborate than any before, and I learn from your former colleagues in Wittenberg that you have mastered the arts of dark magic. I even hear that you have sold your soul to the devil in exchange for twenty four years of service from a fallen angel. Please tell me that the tales they spin are not the truth. Assure me that you have not signed your life away to the devil himself, that you have not taken an oath that surpasses our wedding vows. I can only believe what I am told by those whom I trust, because you, the man who I used to trust more than anyone else, will not even give me the decency to answer my plea. If all these things they say are true, then not only have you voluntarily signed your own death sentence, but you have also forced me into a life of loneliness. My dearest, I cannot be your loving wife from beyond the grave. Yet even now I struggle to be the same woman who became your lawfully wedded wife just two years ago. How am I supposed to remain true and loyal to you when you abandon me for a life full of travel and riches that can only end with your eventual death sentence? I am still the strong woman you married those few years ago and I cannot wait many more years just to discover the unknown truth about you. If what all your colleagues have told me is the genuine truth, then there will be drastic measures that I must take. The only thing that I am thankful for in my barrenness and inability to give you sons and/or daughters is that no child of ours will ever experience the loneliness I feel. I miss you greatly and I still love you but I cannot live this way much longer. I cannot bear to think that you have abandoned me, but if this is true, then you give me no choice but to leave you for good, dear husband. If I do not hear from you in more than twelve months, I will be forced to take drastic measures. One year from today, I will no longer call myself your wife. I truly wish that it did not have to come to this, but you give me little choice in the matter. If I had enough evidence to believe that these stories are indeed false, then I would never consider this, but truly you have taken this choice away from me.
Yours, Perhaps Not Forever and Always,
The Disappointed Mrs. Faustus
To my Deceased ex-husband,
October 9th, 1592
Paris, France
So it seems that the stories were true. Many moons ago I wrote to you asking whether or not your dealings with the devil were pure gossip or sincere. As it turns out, the tales told to me were indeed true. It was confirmed to me by the scholars who were with you when you died. According to them, you tried to repent for your wrongful ways in the hours leading up to the end of your sentence. They even mentioned that you called upon ancient Greek gods like Helen of Troy in an attempt to save you. Alas, you had to pay the price for what you did as it was too late. Satan’s mark was etched into your skin and you now belong forever to the devil in his lair. Mesastophilis’ servitude cost you your life, and it cost us our marriage. I kept true to my word, and I was able to discreetly annul our marriage. My family found me a reputable husband in France, and two years after I wrote you last, he and I were married and moved to Paris. I have told no one that I am writing this letter, as no one else knows that I was married to the infamous Doctor Faustus. Your tales spread across all regions, and many people knew of the fantastical and mystical adventures you had during your last twenty-four years of life. It turns out that I was mistaken about my barrenness, and I am now a mother to five children. Yet even as I built my new life, not a day goes by where I do not think of you. I imagine what a life with you would have been like, and I often blame myself for what happened to you. If I had loved you more or if you truly knew how much I loved you then maybe you would not have sold your soul to the devil. Yet, you knew the price you would pay. You chose to live a life of luxury and riches and magic over a life married to me. A price so high, that not only did it kill you but it killed our marriage. I have learned to move on, but I still think of you. You will always be a part of me.
No Longer Your Wife But Your First Love, Forever and Always,
The Former Mrs. Faustus
To my Southern belle
Dear Rachel,
I met you during a troubled time in my life. Most of the times of my life (thus far) have been troubled, though I always keep pushing forward.
Relationships scare me - you know that. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you, like I’m holding your heart in my hands each day. It’s been less than a year, and I have hurt you already, and you helped me to see that maybe that’s just a part of this thing called love: the knowing that it will hurt sometimes, but we can forgive each other and keep moving forward, living in the present moment, and building a life together.
I love your warm smile, which makes me feel safe. I love your kind demeanor, the way you can walk down a street and start a conversation with anyone. I marvel at that quality because I so often look at people suspiciously, while you're able to strike up a conversation (and even a friendship) so easily.
I love how you believe in God, but you don’t push your beliefs on me or anyone else. I love how much you appreciate your family, even though you recognize there are things in the past that hurt you.
I love how you talk about childhood memories and how proud you are to be from Tennessee and down South. You’re my Southern belle and you’re kind, but fierce.
I love how hard you work, how tough you are. I love how you make me a better person and you build me up, instead of tearing me down.
I love how you touch me, how each kiss and caress seems to heal me.
Every day, I’m learning how to love you more, all of you, the parts that I like, the parts that annoy me, and the parts that are neutral.
Your definition of love is not flimsy or fickle. Your love is born of the earth, it’s tough and unrelenting, gentle but strong, loyal but unwilling to be taken advantage of, a mixture of our generation’s beliefs with the beliefs of your ancestors.
Your love sustains me when I’m running low. Your love recognizes that God is the source of all love and who we both rely on, allowing us to love each other.
Your love doesn’t back down: it’s wild like the Lynyrd Skynyrd guitar solos that make you think of back home, and it’s open and spacious like the farms you spent time on as a child.
I am grateful for your love, your Southern-fried attitude and cooking.
We’ve said this to each other before: We’ll never totally know everything about each other, though we seem to know much already.
But that’s the exciting part: the future ahead, and learning something new and becoming closer to you each day.
Love,
-Nick
The End