blades raze i read her last email to me. or at least the last one that survived. it was written in the fourth month of our final year. decades on the other side of everything, it wasn't what i thought it would be. she said she was crying all the time. she said i was her oxygen. she said i was her coffee. i could feel her laughing through tears that blurred a paragraph almost too small to be anything at all. you know she used to send her far-flung friends razor blades in the mail? not for shaving. for cutting. she'd ask them what their favourite colour was before she went ahead with it. every unwanted weapon looked like a dollar store pencil sharpener without a reservoir to catch the shavings and graphite dust. i don't think she sent me one. if she did, i lost it a long time ago. maybe she'd want to see me if i only had weeks to live. if i pulled the pin out of that grenade and threw it her way. maybe that would wake her up to what we used to be. not that it would matter much. we wouldn't have a thing to say to each other. not now. not ever. 230719 what's it to you? who go blather from