dear emily,
i spied hans driving to work as i finished my walk.
this is unusual, because he usually leaves before i
even wake up. i know, no "here's your scrambled
eggs and bacon, honey."
my justification? i would rather he remember me
from the night before than the morning after.
anyway, he motioned me to his car.
"they're playing our song."
we have a song? i leaned in to hear shania twain's
twangy, "still the one i run to, the only one i belong
to . . ."
for dang certain,
lea
ps. "love must be sincere. hate what is evil; cling
to what is good." romans 12:9
