Fifty-two

 Peggy,

    I never can answer hate. One of the things that I admire about you. I never did talk much, but I liked people who can, with strength, truth, all those ethics we learned in Philosophy 101. At least you didn't hit her. No. No, I could never, too frightening. 

    Every word is a fire. I'm still working on that one.

    Yes, she is much better. I am allowed now to walk with her in the mornings, her strength is quickly coming back, everyday an extra 15-20 minutes. Remember holding hands, in the halls, in the cafeteria, on the grass between wings, it was the greatest act up to that point in our short lives, as far as I was concerned anyway. It feels the same when she and I walk. When we get back to the house, I get her a drink, fix her some toast, an orange, an apple (though she only takes a bite or two), we sit and talk, her mother was there once, didn't say a word. At first, she would take a nap after; the kiss goodbye was the greatest moment of my day. Now we hug at the door when I leave, very hard to let go. The greatest way to start my day.

    I can wait.