April is quite the dream.
It saves me from March, so valiantly, every year.
This is what I have been doing lately:
teaching Rosalita how to put flowers in her hair
reading Nabokov on our big white bed while she sleeps next to me in a yellow dress
collecting flowers that only bloom once a year
cooking exactly three eggs for us to share every morning (scrambled, with cheese)
painting everything turquoise
Rosalita is so sweet. She walks and talks and holds the telephone like a teenager. Lots of days it's like having a best friend and lots of days it's really hard. And lonely. Very lonely.
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