Twenty-six

 Peggy,

    I hope you still write. 

    I don't mean to be one of your patients, sorry, clients. Life is just so tiring. And it's good to hear (yeah, I know) you finally laugh. Not good to hear you are alone, again. Here I am.

    Sorry, about this part.

    I look at her face every night. Remembering her voice, the feel of her skin. 

    You haven't said much about your family. Your younger sister was always kind to my wandering, immature, ignorant soul. I don't know that I like the word soul. I haven't found one (word) that I like, that fits, yet.

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