Letter 47

Dear You,

Letters are few and far between these days, but I love you all the same. We haven’t had the kids for 5 whole days, and last night you made me dinner at your apartment. Just like the first time, you made me relax on your incredibly uncomfortable Ikea couch. From there I watched you as you made chili verde from scratch. It’s pretty ballsy cooking a Mexican dish for a Mexican girl, even if she has only a quarter in her blood,but I have enough to know what is good and what isn’t.

I read the Bell Jar and somehow sang along to Johnny and June simultaneously. I am just talented like that, and I re-read the same paragraph about ten times. It is difficult to pay attention to anything else when you are in the room, sharing air.

Someone asked me the other day if I was happy. “You seem happy”, she said.

“I am happy, actually, and that is not even a lie”, I drooled back.

Isn’t it lovely, my darling, that we really are happy?

P.S. The chili verde was incredible and you are incredible and everything good all at once, and trust me, I have enough love in my blood, to know what’s good and what isn’t.

Love, Me