Dear--,

There is a distance made of walls and on the other side, you. Where are you, dear friend? How are you? Sometimes, it is a thick slab of glass, opaque, this gap. I feel, hear you stirring, and I wonder if your thoughts mirror mine, like they often do. We are listening to the sound of the rain, falling listlessly, aimlessly. Are we? Is it raining where you are? In the distance, a grand chorale, horse hooves thundering. Listen. Listen, you would say, listen and hear. And I would hear them, I who never think of horses, realize that they are beautiful and grand. Send me a line, share this breakfast with me, for it tastes like sadness where I am. Where are you? Help me break this wall of glass--surely, it can be done? We've done it before. We've been saved once, and again, and again. Talk to me about angels, talk to me about grace. You are moving my fingers to write. You are here.