Q

Dear C

How have you been? I ask and really want to know.

Back here, days are days, lapping into each other. I dream of you more often now. Sometimes you’re crying, sometimes we both are. Others you tell me you’re fine, and you’re happy, you’re coming home, you’re finally home.

If you were here we would talk endlessly. I pass by the train station half-expecting your mop of hair to crest into view.

I hope you’re well.

xo Qing