Dear F,
Eliza M Dumais

Couldn’t bear to highlight a single line, because I’d have saturated the beautiful black and white web – one life weaving itself strand by strand, stop by stop, into a pattern whose strength lies in its filament particulars – green with highlighter and envy. You draw our attention to the futility of weaving, waiting, writing; we come to the end and find your point made manifest. Futility is the fact. Grace is the reason we pace the platform, huddle onto the train, and keep moving.

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