i thought i'd hear from you before march. it's all right. i'm not writing to scold. i'm writing because the magnolia on the back wall opened last week and i wanted you to know. it was four days early this year.

lior, 02 march

paris · friday evening

18 march

dear lior,

the bakery downstairs closed at six and the building has been quiet since. i found your last letter under a stack of bills and read it again while the water boiled. four days early. that's worth writing about, and i mean to.

i didn't write back in march because i was afraid the letter would arrive before the magnolia did. i'm not sure that makes sense outside of my head. it doesn't matter. the magnolia is out now and i'm writing back.

the room above the bakery is the same. the floor still slopes toward the window. the sycamore is leafing — i can see it from the desk if i sit a certain way. i thought of you the other afternoon, on the long walk past the canal, when the light went the color it does in your kitchen at four. i remembered standing there once.

i'll come up before the magnolia drops. probably the second week of april. i'll write again with a date.

love,