And here I am, sitting here on the cold hard tiles of my store room, in the early dawn of November,
I open the big old red suitcase of all our winter woolen clothes and hold each one, relishing their smell and memories,
My feet cold, my heart warm, I bunch up a scarf in my hand and hug it close to my chest,
Blanketing myself with warmth, my heart with memories and my eyes with the end of the little piece of cloth,
Where your initials lie...
-