I need courage today. Terribly. If you could parcel it up in brown paper and send it my way, that would be wonderful.
I miss Kitty, as always. But, I think I am noticing that perhaps it isn’t Kitty I am missing. It is the Kitty that was, not the Kitty that is.
There is nothing that can be done, nothing.
Unless we build that time-machine.
Unless we spend our December snowed in with steel and sparks and soldering irons and Timothy breathing on the windows. (Because he came back, he always comes back.)
Unless we build that time-machine, there is no Kitty. There is no saving Anne Frank.