I. To the person who left the light on
I almost mailed this on a Tuesday. The stamp was already wet. Then I remembered you hate Tuesdays, and superstition is the only religion we ever agreed on.
The apartment still clicks the way it did when you paced. I bought quieter shoes. It didn’t help.
I bought quieter shoes. It didn’t help.
II. To my mother, who will not read email
You asked if I was eating vegetables. I am eating sentences. Some of them are green with envy; some are orange with warning. I am fine. That is a vegetable of a kind.
The boat sold. I kept a rope. Don’t ask why. You already know why.
III. To the editor who said “make it warmer”
Warmth is not a thermostat. Warmth is risk. I put the risk back in. If the client freezes, that is weather — not a drafting error.
IV. To you, again
If you are reading this, the drawer opened. If you are not, the drawer did its job. Either way, I practiced saying the true thing without an audience. That counts as sending.
Yours, in the conditional tense,
— M.
