Staring at the heap of empty cigarette boxes The One hoards in a corner on the kitchen counter, I decided that I had better write a post before I die from too much smoking.
The other day, I said that I never keep birthday cards because little piles of them spring up everywhere. Well, then I remembered that I had kept a very special card once. I even laminated it to keep it pristine. It is the hand-painted front half of a card my sister made for my birthday one year. Luckily, she recorded the date on the exquisite painting: Ils '98.
I will always cherish it.
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