Dear Anabelle,

Sometimes when I think of what we once were, I feel sick to my stomach. Other times I feel my chest tearing with such a yearning to be with you again, in that time, when the birds knew us by name and the future was just a fantasy. Is this our legacy, nausea and raw nostalgia?

It’s been a difficult couple years, Anabelle. I been in prison for a while—I’m sure you heard—and a mental hospital, too (don’t know if you heard about that). I think I came out worse than I went in. There’s no sympathy in a place like that, despite what people say. (I’m talking about the hospital but that’s true for prison, too.) Not that I was looking for any. But it woulda been nice if I got some from you. Even just a bit.

There’s a lot I want to say that I…