Dear Wigleaf,

I am in my bedroom, staring up at the footprints on the ceiling.

I hear the familiar sound of a drawer being open and shut in the apartment below, like I do every night. Even though my downstairs neighbor moved out last month, and no one new has moved in yet.

Now that it's time to sleep, I turn on my white noise machine. With my eyes closed, I can hear my baby's cry drift in and out between the static. But my baby hasn't been a baby for years now, and when I turn off the machine, there is only silence.

I hope, wherever you are, that you see and hear things that make you think you are dreaming. That's where you will find me.

Love,

Elena