It’s nice when Burt gets the gist of my writing about him. When it contains the promise of my love as in the poem I created for him the other night, he’s a happy audience.
So much of what I say is distorted on its way to meet him that it can be a frustration to communicate.
The mishearing is a dementia thing, but it can rankle. Good thing I truly love him.
this is our life 
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