a chapter - to whom. (may29) (Patreon)

If you're reading this, I'm dead.

I mean, if you're not reading this, I'm dead too.

So let me start over.

I'm dead.

I'm done. I don't have any answers or excuses. I don't need an excuse. I'm tired of trying to answer. So much busy work. So much useless empty life. Everybody needs everything repeated, stretched out. 100,000 words to tell a sad, small story, or it won't sell in airport bookstores. My husband died. We had two children, a boy and a girl. (That's you, Simon. That's you, Sunday, write that down.) Now I'm dead, and so I have no children at all. WE have no children at all. Think of all the disposable income your father and I will have.

How many paragraphs and I still haven't said I love you?

I did. I loved you both more than anything. I loved you almost enough to go on living.

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