I am toying with the idea of having her name tattooed onto my body.
Or a patch of manuscript.
I'm reading book after book, and skipping the endings so she won't die.
Although of course, I know that she is dead.
"I would like to speak Russian with you". Some of the last words she wrote.
Russia called to her. She was in love with Chekhov.
She never made it home.
And they called her a liar. And a manipulator. And a plagiarist.
Her husband married a woman who looked like her.
And his second wife learned to write with Katherine's hands.
And when I think about it all, I feel sad.
But also --
she used to write when she couldn't find the rest of her sentence.