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 by Nick Gulig

Dear xxxxxxxxxx

When it snows, the words become a river ending in your mouth. I
think that maybe you are near me, maybe not. It isn’t getting
easier. Depending on the season, depending on the year, the day is
what subtracts us. Either way, at times it feels impossible to draw
the world around your name without remembering. We are
disconnected perfectly. Errorlight, for instance, is the the empty
space beside a person sitting on a bench. Today the day is silver. I
do not believe it

(if I am honest,
if I am here