I miss you so much in the future already. My Archives of the Future. See H for House [of Being], hands, handiwork, hardship, unhandy, handless, hurt, holy, he, him, hearsay, human, holding, hope, honor, Henryk, hatching, etc.

It’s been a bad winter for us so far in the bitter cold wind-chill—for you and your partner, odd toes—all ten of you gone purple [gone quiet], numb, thickened pads, and an infection to boot. The middle finger [given to the gods] x-rayed with right hand. Stay composed, stay quiet—not birds in flight when I speak; rest. The antibiotics are promised to remove the swelling in another day or two. And if not, an infusion for you that will benefit the entire body. Maybe.

I try not to hold it against you when you drop everything, such as pens, notebooks, the cat treats, glasses of water, the dishes–and then the torso [core] too pained to pick any of it up. The broom has a new use—and the new one with the dustpan attached. I bought cheetah print and another in zebra for the back of the House—to cheer us all up. And I find the sweeping soothing—like driving or cleaning—before the dirt diseased us.

The new, charcoal gloves I bought you—we will sport them tomorrow with the new, insulated velvet boot socks [also gray and with tassels!] The leather ones from last year have given up their other halves, no long pairs, and I’ll no longer embarrass you with mismatched colors when driving—because they’re no longer warm enough—and you’re better than that.

Also purchased—a new set of thick, multi-colored Sharp Mark, permanent pens—18 colors [cheaper than Sharpie, and we have been using the debit card a lot lately, as you know–buying presents for the family and us, of course. We deserve it. It’s been a tough year since the car crash, but we must write out these secrets in thick teal, plum, and dark umber ink that seeps through to the second page—in large handwriting so that I can later read. No one else has to see the illegible loopiness. It’s embarrassing for all of us. I know. We must hold our cards to the chest as much as possible so as not to bum anybody out.

I also purchased your coffins online today–made of olive wood, sanded smooth—with a lining of white velvet. I know your purple will be more pronounced, but I refuse black—and the flowers and ribbons will be apple/pear green orchids and golden tulle. When you have become ghosts of the House, I shall dig you up for the autopsy—for the new generation of doctors to figure out what went bad and how to save your future brothers and sisters. I’m sorry it has all come to this. Gnarled and puffed up, you are still elegant, strong—and I will remember you fondly this way.



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