I received an email from Verity today. Apparently John has booked himself into The Maudsley. He has had some kind of a breakdown and says it is my fault. She writes that John is permanently restless and just lays on the bed waiting... waiting... waiting to want to do something. He says he got that from me and wants me completely bleached out of his head. Maybe John even said “we didn’t move more than 15 metres in 6 months!” or “microwave clocks run two seconds slower than normal clocks.” Maybe he even said that I was “life decomposing” a kind of “human compost heap”. I enjoy imagining the things that maybe John would say. When I do that it somehow feels like he is still here.

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