Postcards to a past

 Peggy,     Not a good day. I don't know. Nothing different. Nothing new. Maybe that's it.     Haven't walked in a while maybe that's it.     What kind of space do you have for writing? Mine is small but comfortable. My desk is going on fifty years old. Nothing fancy, factory built, bought it at a discount furniture store. It's traveled with me through about for lives. Can't find a comfortable chair though. I end up getting up every half-hour to get off my sore ass.     Yeah. Most people have an ex. Multiple exes.     I could never argue with anyone, especially someone I was seeing. Never works out for me. So I remain floating...     But, once again, you have the strength.     N. Don't dye it!     A couple friends and I are going to start biking as soon as one gets a bike. Can't criticize as it took me three months to find mine. And not sure why I'm waiting to get...

 Peggy,     Knocked on my door. She stood, looking like she had cried for a week, a little shivering, looking like shit. Wrapped a coat around (isn't that what you do?). On my couch; she loves hot chocolate, but she said no, tea would be better. Drank a few sips, put it down, laid her head on the pillows, feet were still on the floor, was instantly asleep, so, took her shoes off, put her feet up, covered her up, left a light on. In the morning, got her to eat some toast and more tea, was asleep before I left for work. Came home, some soup this time, more sleep. I couldn't. Sat watching through the night, dosing off and on through it till sunrise.     Peggy, I have never been so scared in my life. And yet never so happy. Ok, relieved.      Fed her a real breakfast the second day. She seemed awake. Came home to a showered, clothed in my sweats and tee, sleeping person. Repeat of the night before. We both dosed off and on and I got pie...

 Peggy,     Venting. No. Just waiting.      How is he doing? We have had a lot of rain lately. Feels a bit like the Midwest.      Kind of venting. I haven't seen or talked to her for a week. No idea. No fucking clue. She hasn't answered her phone (voice and text), email. Knocked on her door once, but have been too scared to try again. No one likes not knowing. For me it is a kind of insanity, no sleep, not much food, constant sad movies running in my brain. Is this heartbreak? I even talk to god. Should I call hospitals, police. Don't know any relatives, all I know are names of friends.      Does she hate me so much?

 Peggy,     Yes. When I walk, I listen, or at least try. I think I hear. Probably not everything. My old ears just can't anymore, too much music through old fashioned head phones in our younger days. (That's my story and I'm sticking with it.) And an old fashioned habit of watching clouds as much as I can. Of course, the treatment is only temporary, though even a short vacation is better than none. As I sit, the shit slowly renews itself. Again, you are much stronger than I am, much more clear. (She is that way, too.) Did you ever go camping with us? I have no recollection. Not that I am a mountain man or anything like that, but we were always camping, I actually tried hunting with my father on a couple of brain freeze instances, playing outside everyday was what we did. So, yes, that is how I deal with shit.     And books, of course, but they were a later; like fifth grade, though I was reading Asimov in third.     I haven't said how so...