Some days are not like others. Wavering, I could not force my handwriting to obey. Form letters. I strode across a parking lot (I was quite possibly late to class); I could not remember having put on this particular pair of shoes. Luckily for me, they matched my lime green sweater. Today I found the electronic hot plate steaming white wisps from it's burner. After four cups of tea I left for a class-- and the water boil dry. "Melissa, are you boiling some water?"

Twice.

Earlier, at six something a.m., a little grey half-concious light found its way beneath the blinds. Such strange dreams. Where is my alarm? No, my phone. Quick... slothful hands, still filled with sleep, obey. Mom! "Sorry to wake you," she said. Then, "I need you to pray for me." Her father--but I knew already.

The stagehands pulling ropes will start the velvet curtain's close.

My Granddad, eyes well up with tears when I recall one single second, your blue-eyed heartfelt smile.