think I've forgotten how to write. I know i have a voice. It speaks in my mind but its receding like the hairline I know yours will when you're forty and I don't know whether it will come back and I'm afraid that if it doesn't I'll forget how to speak to you and we'll grow apart like leaves on a tree in winter so glue a pen to my palm and make me dance and hopefully words will relearn how to waltz across the page.