marissa raze they framed your letters to me. both of them. hoisted them up on the wall and gawked like they were some garish bipartite news clipping. first you were someone i never called, though i should have. then you were yourself, and the current of your words shifted from solemn to playful. you wrote about your curly-haired black dog. equal parts british angler and french floater. you said she hoped to someday find someone who appreciated her just as she was. i knew without being told that the dog was you, though her name was not your own. she carried the same two syllables i gave to my heart the day i caught it scurrying around on four legs. 231015 what's it to you? who go blather from