Re: postcards: bread and butter
[Butter's handwriting is sprawling and large on the back of card-stock. The pen is a felt-tip or something thick-nibbed and the slip of paper is now routinely stuffed into the envelope.]
A slow-burning secret. One that bakes you as you go. (Sorry) But I know what you mean. You're not gasping for air, you're just burning inside out. Which, Bread, sounds like the worst kind.
Normalcy covers off your desk-job, 9-5 guy who likes wearing ladies' underwear if we're adding up and averaging out so I think normal can cover off complicated. But okay, you crave uneventful quiet. Why? Is life a rollicking time all the time?
Depriving a kid of sugary cereal is practically worth a life sentence. You grew up without sugary cereal, Bread? No wonder you're the wholesome one of the two of us. I have no idea what an old soul is. Do we think only the old can have depths? Or are some kids just more serious than others?
I'll tell you a secret, Bread. I was a serious kid. Yep, me. I worried a lot. I grew up and I shed a lot of the worries. Why is family not so close or is that a secret? You could try getting close, you know.
I like quiet okay but sometimes quiet is too empty for me. And that's a secret I won't own up to, B.