I got a thing from her in the mail today, just some papers I needed along with a handwritten note. She had the handwriting of an articulate person, an extra layer of consideration over the words in the careful placement of dots and loops. Me, I had serial-killer handwriting, which this business always made me nuts about the stupidities of my character.
And it wasn’t like there wasn’t enough going through my head all day anyway with the whole mess. I was stuck in this category of people that were known for their weeping and for their bitter asides. No amount of paperwork signed was going to make that go away is a thought we maybe shared from our opposite sides of town. Or not. Or whatever.
Days like this one I would make it out the door and suddenly my finger would worry after the missing ring, like skin and muscle and bone took a longer time with grief than the internal organs did. It was like when you’re about to fall asleep and then you’re falling and you wake up to a start. Anyway. The handwriting, the ring, the terse telepathy of it all. Being in this getting apart together, it was enough to make me weepy and bitter.
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you've done a great job of noticing how handwriting relates to a person. If my handwriting was on this comment wall it would resemble a tourettes victim with a ruler stuck on all caps. anyways...great attention to detail and that tone of bitter loss and futility is very predominent, so I love it.
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