Henry is at his usual spot, at his usual time. Oddly, he is wondering if she even remembers what he has written, and if this was what she meant the cards to be.
Not like him to question himself or his judgement. He shakes his head at the thought, and gets out the box.
Reading the card: Sometimes love is not a fast moving universe. It is that time frozen in your memory that holds you still.
Like Deja Vu. This card and his earlier thought. Tonight he doesn't immediately put pen to paper, but makes a phone call. All he says into the phone is “That is fine.” And puts it away.
Picking up the pen he writes:
You might be right; but perhaps over time we morph that memory to be more love than it ever was. There is always the night you wore that pink dress in a world of black. Maybe it was not needing the illusion of being slimmer. Maybe it was because we were young. There is the memory I hold of you.
Signed with an H, and sealed. Henry uncharacteristically gets up and heads home early.
When he gets home; he climbs the stairs to their old bedroom that he hasn't been in in years.
He takes a shower in their old bathroom, and climbs into bed. Laying there watching the moon out the window; he falls asleep.
Heney leaves the envelope with his notes she scribbled on next to his plate until he is done with his supper.
He picks up the envelope and idally taps it on the cleared table. Taking a sip of his coffee, he sets the mug back into the saucer and opens it.
The pages are out of order; s...