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

Dear Jude I

Dear Jude,

I miss your smile as I flip through my old pics of you on my phone.

I miss your early morning alarms when you get up to go to work. I miss you coming home smelling of chlorine, your hair still damp from the pool.

I miss how you dress: crisp & handsome in a suit, a matching pocket square at your breast.

I miss us all hanging out: JB spoiling the ends of novels for you; Malcolm sketching buildings in the armchair; Willem sprawled next to you on the couch.

You were the most interesting of all of us. I’m just the writer, documenting your life.

I miss you.

I hope the trail is going well.

Love,

M.