Letter 061424 words toward my daughter getting married
Dear Ethan Hawke
A song played that made me forget a song was playing. I made my daughter laugh a couple times in a place that knew itself into beauty. There is always a church. A church near a church. I don’t really pray bc I pray all the time. My healthy sons sat with my sick son. I don’t mean to say it that way. Say, I say, to saying. It all felt very young. Very elsewhere. Elsewhere, the worlds of more. Beside me, my wife looked perfectly alone. I mean to say it that way. Alone in her own perfection. My sick son is not sick unless you account for healing. It was such a great day. It gave way, and gained. I hate the world, and days end. We only get one simulation. Run out of sadness.
kingsoftrain 
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