Today I went to a bookstore
A grief observed by C. S. Lewis.
Into a ziplock bag went this book, and 
A quote from C Raymand Beran
--what is a friend?
I will tell you.
I drove the forty minutes along the dull highway
Lamposts like hovering, ghostly figures,
And slipped this package under the windshield wiper of your car.
Why is it that my own words can't express
What I'm feeling, so well as others do?
A-
For the tenth
-a friend
Those were my only words. 
Your mother died eight months
Ago tomorrow, and here I
Sit. Selfishly hoping you'll speak 
To me again.