Dear Fur. December, 2018.
My darling and truest Fur,
I hope you are keeping warm up there in that city that never sleeps. This morning the heat went out at work and I couldn’t feel my feet and then I remembered that it wasn’t long ago that I suffered that nothing-there-sensation constantly and I felt grateful for warmer times.
I’m realizing that I haven’t been accounting for much with words or images or any lasting thing lately. It’s all flexible and moves right through me- so much so that the act of putting language to what is happening in here and with me feels muted and like something I cannot reach- ah, there’s a word for that too I suppose “unattainable” but not that is not quite it either.
Most of these days I feel stupid and ashamed that I have yet to produce any single thing of note.
But also I know what it means to be loved.
To be loved so extraordinarily and tenderly well.
Is that enough?
All the love I’ve been given, I hope to one day return to you.
Always, even in icy waters, yours-
June
