Dear Jude II

Dear Jude,

I miss your cleaning. I miss hearing you trot out arpeggios on the piano in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, when you can’t quite grasp reality. I miss your cooking. I miss the sound of your voice, even when you’re angry. I miss the looks you shared with Willem; I miss you looking at the rising sun at the office. I miss your smile, hidden behind your hands. I love the sound of you singing in German. You’re one of the smartest men I know. Can I give you a hug? Would you like to go for tea sometime? I miss the sparkle in your gorgeous green eyes. I love how ruthless you are in court, how you glue everyone’s eye’s onto you. Don’t let the old bastards (your legs) get you down. I love the way your hands move across the keys of a piano, how they finely chop onions or carrots. You’re the most sensitive person I know. Don’t worry, JB was right: It will get better.

Love,
M

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