Seven-hundred and fifty words a week, something to look forward to. A voice, a letter, a memory, to remind me. New books in the mail, open them at work because it's too exciting to wait. Look at the cover, feel the pages, get used to the weight because it'll become a part of me soon enough.
She wants a cherry blossom wedding, and we scroll through endless images of delicate little flowers. Strands, branches, buds, petals. We're excited like we're little kids and I hope that everyone feels like this, as often as possible.
I take out our new wine glasses for the first time, a gift from a Vermont friend, and they're lovely. We've got candles lit and our New Hampshire friends are telling stories. The wine glass in my hand has a fingerprint melted into it. Whoever made this glass left a part of themselves for me to find.
He write me messages and we talk through the game silently supporting the unpopular team. He's in Japan and I'm in New England and sometimes it's nice to feel like you've got someone on your side. Sometimes I'm not as resistant to the progressively consuming technology when it means I can reach all the way across the world.