Once upon a time . . .

. . . I had a receiver of my mind.

But modes shift and formats change and this blog can't house the mind in the same intimate way that our old-fashioned letters always did. I could still pen such notes, but now they would come back to me marked return to sender. And so I leave my paper blank and feel the agitation bubble within.

I can't make myself write what cannot be sent.

Only--

Dear John,
Did you know that a river of tears dehydrates the body and makes it quake?

Dear John,
You would want me to be happy, I know and appreciate that. But that's a lot harder than I thought it would be with you gone to a different sphere.