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March 16, 2009
I keep writing you letters, even though I don't think I'd ever send them and they're not really worth much anyway. I want to pretend that I will send them and you will reply and we will write letters back and forth like I've been told people used to do. I like your handwriting and I like you as a person and these are things that I know. This bell is still keeping time - your letter hasn't arrived yet, it's rather unfortunate - but I just want to go to sleep. Time is inescapable like this room, this heart.