Bucky,

Clint has given me a new alias-Flannel Thief. I've always loved flannels, as you already know, but there's something about Clint's flannels that makes them so much cozier than mine. Maybe it's because they're worn-and old as dirt. Hey, sounds like you.

Anyways, aside from raiding Clint's closet and taking any flannel in sight, nothing else has been going on around here. Some days it's so quiet; the kids are outside playing, and I'm curled up in the living room reading, and I just can't seem to focus, because it's too quiet. I mean, I've read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland at least twice before, and both times I loved it. Under the circumstances these days, though, I can barely read a full sentence without looking at the page in a daze.

I miss reading in my old bedroom, my legs stretched across your lap, your finger tracing circles on my jeans as you listened to me read aloud. I know you didn't enjoy listening to me read Les Misérables because Jean Valjean was an ex-convict who tried to turn his life around, to be a better person, only for his past to continue haunting him, only for him to die from heartache in the end. I know you never told me you hated the story because you felt as if you were my Jean, a man trying to do the right thing after years of doing the wrong thing.

You are my one love, Bucky. Nothing could ever change that.

Yours,

Marlena