PPS Amour— not a cry, not a claw-back, just a footnote left bleeding in the margin: I was here. I loved you. I still check the mailbox for someone who no longer writes back.
PPS: Do you remember the way light fell through the blinds that Sunday? Like confession through teeth. Like forgiveness through a crack in the door. pps amour
No envelope this time. Just this. Just the echo. PPS Amour— not a cry, not a claw-back,
PPS: This morning I peeled an orange for myself and thought of the way you used to save me the last slice. Sweet. Imperfect. Wet with the juice of something we couldn't name. PPS Amour— not a cry