Dear Loco,
I feel a little bit like the well is drying up. Like I’m at a loss of words. Sumedha once said that we grieve for the death of the people we used to be too.
Maybe when that happens it becomes very noisy for a bit, and then goes completely silent.
So, in this moment of still I imagine you’re doing that thing where you ask to be let under the blanket, and I lift my knees up for you to crawl in. It’s absolutely quiet, this is our hearth, and I’m warming my toes under you.
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