Our words to each other are snatched away and destroyed before anyone has a chance to feel them. If our writing is lucky enough to survive, it quietly gathers centuries of dust in archives and rich people’s private collections. It might be naive of me, but I want to save them, to show our words to the world. That’s why I want to work in conservation and why I can never burn Clay’s letters. They are what remains of us, a truth that deserves to be known.
