Weeping
Hey, who’s that girl over there? Yeah, see that girl with long brown hair, sitting upright in her plane seat, staring out the window with a glazed look and silent tears drizzling down her face? I wonder what her story is . . . flying from Munich to Chicago . . . why is clutching a piece of notebook paper with cursive writing in a tight fist, as if letting go is the letting go of a relationship? The letter seems to have the word ‘szeretettel’ in the corner– isn’t that Hungarian for ‘with love?’
Dear girl. I bet she is leaving some of the relationships dearest to her heart and is weeping, weeping for time.
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