To Pluto and Jane and all the rest,
Jane, I laid in your bed today. I sprawled out and you didn't say anything but I could feel the remnants of memories on our skin. I usually sit on the right side of the room, in that bright orange eyesore chair and think about your titanic eyelashes, invincible until, until they collide with your iceberg eyelids and you breathe and you breathe and you breathe. But I mainly think about Pluto. I sit and I think and she's dead. And she's dead and she's dead and she's dead. If you wake up, that's what you need to remember, rip away at the memories, Jane. Rip them all to fragments or people will think you're demented when you scream her name as you come back to life.
Signed, Marigold
