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from four by fo(u)r hands

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My Dearest Anna,

I have started and started over so many times with this letter. I hardly know where to begin anymore. All my words sound stiff and over-rehearsed at this point, but still I find myself compelled to write to you.

It’s cold here. It’s always cold here, no matter the time of year, but the chill of late winter is especially bracing. There’s a peaceful kind of quiet here in these frozen hills that stills the very heart of me. In the city, I am
too likely to be distracted. I feel more like myself, and less, here in this frozen home I’ve made three thousand miles from you.

Are you still angry? Are you still reading? Or has this letter been thrown away without even being opened? We parted on bad terms. The worst of terms. I so badly want to reconnect.

Write me back, please. Yours,

Matthew

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from four, released March 11, 2014
Music - Andrew Cote
Words - from "Ten Winter Letters" by Tucker Cummings

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fo(u)r hands Dover, New Hampshire

Tory Miller and Andrew Cote get together sometimes to record improvised piano albums.

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