The computer showed me your letter, and I assume this means we have been matched as pen pals. What’s it like, living with another person? I mean, I’ve done it before, in another life, but the past is thinner than the present.
You say that the sun is trying to eat you. I crawled out the window into the Tuesday garden, where the sun was shining brightly, just this morning to see if I could tell if my sun was hungry. I stood for a long time with my eyes closed, every part of me floating up but my feet stuck on the earth, all my weight pinned against the soles, bare and cool in the crying grass, while the rest of me soaked up warmth like a sponge. But the sun did not eat me. My weight returned, and I sat and listened to a tree’s heartbeat for a while.