Her memories got dizzy and fell out of her head.

There is magic just outside our memory.

This woman had no idea who I was. She has no idea I was once a smoker, was thrown out of boarding school twice and a certified rebel with strong opinions. To her, I was new, fresh, immaculate to the bone. This was all strangely wonderful.

Violet unwrapped everything old as if it were a ribboned gift given to her by the Gods.

My mother had a way of accessing the energy of the people around her. There was no need to know their name, who they were or how she knew them. She didn’t recognize their surface. She went much deeper.

The idea of disassociating from one’s surrounding, of taking a step back was rather clever on my mother’s part without her notice.

The lady roommate said very little and chopped off the better parts of her story.

I saw my mother with eyes opened and not curtained by her motherhood or my ego.

In Dementialand I was able to see for miles without the yesterdays and tomorrows obstructing my view. It was difficult and so simple all at the same time.