A blood-red envelope lands on my desk along with the day’s mail. THE blood-red envelope. The same type of envelope, made of rough handmade paper. Just like it was years ago. You might remember me writing about it last year.
I was not expecting the letter. The envelope was made of blood-red recycled paper, and my name was scrawled in capitals with a black sketch-pen. No stamp, no postmark. Somebody had just walked up and placed the envelope there.
“Err… well…” I am still searching her face and I can see her eyebrows pucker up. “I will try to be a better husband.” I split each word as I say it and, as I feel the first signs of embarrassment creep into me, I see her face raise itself, chin up, and beginning to crumble into a meaningful grin.
There is only so much of reality that we can bear. When it becomes overwhelming, we turn to what we love, for that world that lives beyond our mind’s edge.
The IHM Chronicles Series
On My Nightstand
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