we've been riding to the lake on my days off to share a drink on the rocks.       i got your letter the other night.        i read it outside my gate. holding onto your paper,        i notice smudges on the corners left from the dirt on my hands.         crumpled by the wind, i follow the ink smeared across the paper as you write.             what lovely texture in your message.       how did you know i was going to add to this without writing a single word?