Letter 17Morning. The snow was falling outside. There was a white silence.My mother and I sat facing my father at the dining room table.There was something impenetrable about his gaze. It was like pack ice.And the ice was thickening.I could barely see into him.I knew.And they knew that I knew.He was broken.I did not even need to look at him.I could feel his brokenness all thorough the room.
-Gregory Colbert
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