“i actually don’t understand.
but this time, i will try not to ask you why anymore.”
she wrote in red ink.
that would add to the hundreds of little notes she kept on a box under her bed that he’d probably never get to read.
she writes to him everyday still and reckons she’ll keep doing that until she gets tired and runs out of things to tell him.
“oh, but the words,” she laughed as she told herself.
she realized how she never really runs out of them.