let lemons be angry

My group of fifteen-year-olds in church meet in a kindergarten classroom. Sometimes we see strange art pieces done by the kids all strung up above us. Like drawings of big heads and doctors, unanimously telling the story of a certain Nellie who had gotten her finger stuck in her nose. But these papers stuck on a cupboard were very sweet:







The last one was from a bunch of "Letters from Friends" and it reads very solemnly: "Dear Charles, I agree I'm still your friend. Even though it will be difficult to see each other. Your friend Benjamin."

Reminds me of a letter I wrote in imaginary despair and loneliness to my imaginary husband on his imaginary journey when I was 5: "Dear (stuffy British name that I can't remember), it's impossible."