Dear Wigleaf, My girlfriend walks like a old black jazzman. Open-hearted, arms loose, a subtle swagger in the hips. She knows your pain and it just makes her love all of you that much more. But she needs her time away from us. She needs to put her bare feet in mud, let it thicken around her ankles. I picture her with her palms turned out to God who's talking to her from up above. He's caught his garment on a high branch and doesn't want it to tear. Can she help him? I give her what I can and hope it's enough. Bob - - -
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