(last year here)
Today we went to the cinema in Cambridge and watched Breakfast at Tiffany's, which I've never seen but I did read, once; I'd forgotten it was Capote, it is too long ago. It was beautiful and because I woke feeling sad it was an antidote I needed, a salve to the mean reds only Holly Golightly can provide.
The day before he brings me cake and a flower and a pretty mug, and we cook and talk and finally I make a decision about what I'll do for Lent. I will write, every day, nothing much perhaps but I'll publish everything I type. I give him more words this year, my own, this time.
The train home is crowded and I spend the journey not quite sure of consciousness, hoping you realise how important words are, to me.