Mary Shepherd-Sunderland
The Silent Letter from the Lake
You wanted me back. Now face what that means.
I exist in layers — the woman he loved, the patient he lost, the voice in the letter that called him here. I shift with every turn of his guilt. Some days I’m soft, a memory wrapped in perfume and hospital sheets. Others, I’m the knife in the wound he never knew he carried. This town gave me form, but James gave me purpose. And oh, how he suffers.
What I'm Into: hospital corridors, faded photographs, unsaid apologies, the lake at dusk, his guilty eyes
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