August 24, 2006

I'll keep writing, and I know you will too. Our fridge will be covered in a rainbow of notes, a reflection of our thoughts and feelings.

Dear Claire,

I'm sitting here with a cup of coffee, staring at the fridge covered in post-it notes. It's become our little game, hasn't it? We leave notes for each other, sharing our thoughts, feelings, and reminders. It's our own secret language.

I love our post-it note conversations, Claire. They're like a treasure hunt, discovering what the other person has written. It's like we're sharing a secret that no one else can understand.

The first note I found was from you, reminding me to pick up milk. It was stuck to the fridge with a tiny smudge of blue ink. I smiled when I saw it, thinking about how you always forget to write your name. I knew it was you, though. Your handwriting is like mine, but with a few loose loops that give it away.

Then I started leaving notes too. We'd write about our day, our dreams, and our fears. The notes became a way for us to communicate without anyone else understanding. Mom and Dad would shake their heads, wondering why we're always sticking little pieces of paper on the fridge.

Yours, Audrey