They're coming in. They are all flooding into our home. I can hear the shuffling and groaning coming from downstairs. What if they find me? I must write to you because—because…
Oh, who am I fooling anymore, Darling? I cannot take this any longer. Why have you not written back? It has been months since I've heard anything from you. Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, there is no one to puzzle anymore. This isn't some enigma we cannot solve. You've been more than likely dead for awhile now. But how does anyone expect a vulnerable, alone woman to deal with that? It is only normal for me to keep these letters flowing when you are no longer able to. But I am so weary from keeping up on your end. I have run out of those orchid stamps a long time ago, and I think that was the day when I ran out of you. I need to stop lying to myself. Darling, I need to stop writing to myself.
I can hear them running up the stairs. It may by only a matter of seconds now.
God is right, Darling. He has been right the whole time. You're not coming home. I think I've known that for a very long time. Remember what you told me, Darling? Right before you left?
"There will be a time to love again. There is a time when we will laugh again. And, Honey, we will cry again, but we will also have a time to dance again."
There will be no more agains, Darling. Not for you. Did you know that you were almost quoting Ecclesiastes exactly?
"A time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance"
Oh, I wish Jesus would have let you come home. If only I could die in your arms.
Here they are, at the door; clawing, pounding, kicking. It's my turn, I'm next.