I was meant to wander. To dissolve. To hide. To build an inner life that sustains me when nothing else does. I was meant to arrive when the room had emptied and the music had stopped and the real ones remained.
More striking, and moving, is the alphabetically ordered, temporally disordered narration: ‘Grandma died. Grandma has been sick. Grandma is ailing still’. Death, after all, comes before life in the dictionary.