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“Letter 90 When I used to sit up late at night writing in our bed, I was calmed by the sound of your breathing. I would hold my breath and watch your chest rise and fall. I felt like a blind man soothed by the scents and sounds of a garden. As I lie here in bed writing this letter, there is only the sound of my own breathing. When I hold my breath, there is only silence. Tonight I feel like a miner being lowered farther and farther into a dark mine shaft, longing for the scents and the sounds of a garden.” — Gregory Colbert
Letter 90
When I used to sit up late at night writing in our bed, I was calmed by the sound of your breathing. I would hold my breath and watch your chest rise and fall. I felt like a blind man soothed by the scents and sounds of a garden.
As I lie here in bed writing this letter, there is only the sound of my own breathing.
When I hold my breath, there is only silence.
Tonight I feel like a miner being lowered farther and farther into a dark mine shaft, longing for the scents and the sounds of a garden.