Monday, April 7, 1997
Dear Nova,
It’s been just over six weeks since we were last together. It’s late, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table with that feeling like I’m waiting for something, although I couldn’t say what it is that I’m waiting for. Maybe just for today’s hours to end. Maybe I’m waiting for the sound of your footsteps through the house. Lately, I do this often, sitting in a daze, pretending I might summon the sound of your voice somewhere in the other room simply by wishing for it—but of course, that doesn’t work. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve sat quietly like this, waiting. Eventually, my back will start to hurt, and I’ll shift in whatever chair or position I’ve found on the floor, still not quite knowing what to do next. Today though, I’m trying something new. I
