Dear Meg,
I hope this letter finds you doing all right and that your ankle is healing well, and that it's not too hard for you to get around with the crutches and all.
... even as I start trying to write this, it already sounds--I've--
There's a blotched section, as though something's been scribbled over, crossed out.
I've been thinking about the last
couple of
times we've talked. (Knowing you, I bet you have too.) Especially that -- well, you mentioned that I'd never asked what it was like for you. Thinking about it, well... you're right. I mean, I guessed, I figured I had a good idea, but I never came right out and asked, and I'm sorry for that. Obviously, you don't have to tell me anything; you know that, so do I, but I'd really like to hear it. All of it; then and now, both.
Oh, Meg, there's so much I want to talk about with you, to share with you -- things like how classes are going for you and if you like university anywhere near as much as I did and what Montreal's like and how it's different from Toronto, and--
--and then there's Dave. I'd really like to tell you about Dave. I think you'd like him.
Anyway. Um, I'm going to send this by way of Mom and Dad, too. Just in case you end up with a couple of copies, that's why.
Love,
Kim.