Cold barbed wire
Hi John,
Don’t be a stranger, you said in your last mail, and it made me think about the other night, when I woke up, and it was as if someone had just called my name, in the dark.
I stepped to the window, and through the half-folded blinds I could see a light beaming from the fourth floor, across the backyard. When I looked down, I saw it pinch my hands like cold barbed wire.
And it was then, for just a moment, that I felt like these hands belonged to someone else; like this entire life had been lived by a stranger that just happened to look like me.
God, I don’t know.
It was great working with you, is all I wanted to say, really.
Take care,
—Beth