and I started reading the book of e. e. cummings poems. After I read the poem that compares the woman’s hands to flowers and rain,
I put the book down and went to the window. I stared at my reflection and the trees behind it for a long time.
Not thinking anything. Not feeling anything. Not hearing the record. For hours.
Something really is wrong with me. And I don’t know what it is. Love always, Charlie
April 26, 1992
Dear friend, Nobody has called me since that night. I don’t blame them.
I have spent the whole vacation reading Hamlet. Bill was right.
It was much easier to think of the kid in the play like the other characters I’ve read about so far.
It has also helped me while I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.
It didn’t give me any answers necessarily, but it was helpful to know that someone else has been through it.
Especially someone who lived such a long time ago.
I did call Mary Elizabeth, and I told her that I’d been listening to the record every night and reading the e. e. cummings book.
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